Blue Light Special
by LilLolaBlue
Summary: Tony Stark’s light is going out in a Tijuana jail. It’s up to Harlequin to save him. Now Tony wants her for Stark Enterprises & the Avengers. And himself. Who wants him dead? A foe? Or just the Harlequin’s angry partner? Uh-oh, Tony. The joke’s on you.
1. Doin' A County Jolt

**BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL**

**Chapter One: Doin' A County Jolt**

**Tijuana, Mexico, 1971**

**I: Tony**

"Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Little Rico?"

There was no one else in the dreary, dirty, dismal cell to hear Tony Stark laugh, and the single guard on duty was asleep, so he laughed at his own little joke.

He lay on his back, draped across the filthy bunk, still, and until that moment, quiet.

What would the obituary say?

"Tony Stark, captain of industry, loved by women, feared by men…"

Loved by women. Feared by men. That was good.

Where was he?

Oh, right.

"Tony Stark, captain of industry, loved by women, feared by men… reputed super-hero, inventor of the Iron Man armour, heir to a great fortune, playboy, philanthropist, genius, inventor, president of Stark Industries died today in the drunk tank in a shitty little jail in Tijuana, of complications from a weeklong binge, boozing and balling it up with the local talent. He was thirty-two years old, and the official cause if death was heart failure and dehydration brought on by extreme stupidity."

Hmm.

Started out well, ended badly.

Oh well.

Pepper will make it sound good.

She'll say I was on a mission.

_You were on a mission, Tony. Pussy patrol._

Oh, very funny, brain. When did you become such a joker?

Thinking on it Tony was fairly sure that he had been dosed in that last bar, the one the _federales_ presumably found him lying outside.

_Tony?_

Oh, not you. Go away.

You're going to be serious now, I can tell.

_Tony, this is your brain._

Can't you ever leave me alone? Can't I even die in peace?

_No. If you die, I die. Weren't we supposed to be here working? Didn't anybody ever tell you not to mix business with pleasure? Oh, right. I did. And you only listen to me when you need me._

I need you now. Any big ideas?

_Yes. Scream for help. Offer the guard money. Offer everybody money. Keep screaming until somebody comes, and pray they speak English._

Oh, shut up. You're no help at all.

It would only be another two days before the judge came to town, but Tony knew he didn't have two days.

Food and water that wouldn't make him violently ill would be nice, considering it had been about 24 hours since he had either, but what he really needed was someone with a good, solid understanding of electromagnetic radiation and a little technical know-how to help him with his biggest problem, which was that someone, probably whoever had slipped him a mickey, had also thoughtfully attempted to dislodge his chest plate.

Not being a man of science, the would-be assassin had failed to completely dislodge it, but he had monkeyed with the chest plate enough to cause it to malfunction.

Which, resulted in this slow, horrible death by inches in a Third-World toilet.

It was a real Catch-22 situation.

Had he the energy to fix it, Tony was fairly sure it would be a simple repair, but that much motion would probably kill him.

Which brought him back to his original comment on the situation.

"Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Little Rico?"

That was when some strange trickster god, Loki, perhaps, sent a most unlikely angel to save him.

"…you dirty Mex sonsabitches! One more of youse tries to touch me an' you'll get wot your friend got! I'll kill you with my bare hands and it won't be the first time or the last! I'll kill you all, you motherfuckers! I'll tear your goddamn balls off an' stuff 'em down yer throat! I don't need my guns ta kill youse all!"

Two guards shoved her into the cell as if her entire body was radioactive.

She was short and curvy and muscular, a strong, compact woman with long red hair in two ponytails than hung almost to her waist on either side of her head, and flashing green eyes that went yellow with her fury. She was dressed in an A-line undershirt and a pair of fatigue pants tucked into filthy jump boots, & her bare arms each had three tattoos on them.

One of them was a Justice League insignia

The official one that the League didn't divulge to the general public.

Could it be?

She wore nothing under the shirt, Tony could very clearly see the nipples on her rather sizeable tits poking angrily at the cloth of the undershirt as she continued to beat the bars and scream and curse, hurling herself angrily at the cell door.

He was wondering what, other than drunkenness would make the young woman throw such a fit, when the look he thought he saw the outline of a canteen in one of her pants pockets.

Clever girl.

"Miss? Miss, is that clean water? I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars for a drink. Although, I'm afraid you'll have to take a personal check." Tony croaked.

He hadn't spoken to anyone for…?

He wasn't sure how long.

She turned around, and when he got a good look at her face, he realised, yes it was.

Her name was Liv Napier, she was called Napalm by her friends and she was a fellow mask, a Justice League trainee called the Harlequin.

They both ate at the same deli in Manhattan, and had exchanged nods and pleasantries in the past.

She was, as the current patois would denote, even out of her superhero persona, a real tough chick, a motorcycle-riding, brawling two-fisted drinker whose drove fast, worked hard and played hard, and whose taste in men ran either to fellow predators, or to the kind of skinny, lanky, surly long-haired lads who were most certainly her prey.

Considering the amount of times she managed to get shot, stabbed and seriously beaten, rumours had it that she was everything from a revolutionary urban guerrilla to a government assassin.

Better yet, Liv was also a certified genius, who, at the tender age of 21 was a graduate student with a bachelor's degree in quantum physics working with Dr. Manhattan in his top-secret government laboratory.

Stark Industries had casually courted her, but the feds were more aggressive.

In 1970, Tony Stark had read her paper on Nikolai Tesla and electromagnetic fields in a technical journal, and kicked himself for not trying harder to recruit the Harlequin.

In other words, he couldn't have asked for a better cellmate to help him repair his broken life-support system and help him break out of this toilet.

Fate had smiled upon him once more.

"Oh, it's you, my dear. Fancy meeting you here. I usually get up when a lady enters the room, but, I think the effort might kill me."

Savoir faire is everywhere.

"Mr. Stark? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Dying. Please, Napalm, call me Tony. Have a seat. I insist."

She looked at him, and swore, and sat beside him on the cot where he lay.

"Drinks are on the house." She told him.

More gently than he would have thought possible for a brute like her, the Harlequin rested his head in her lap.

"I can hardly lift my arm." He was embarrassed to admit.

"That's okay. I got you."

She propped his up with one hand and brought the canteen of clean water to his mouth with the other.

This brutal young tough pushed his sweaty hair out of his face almost tenderly, tilting his head when she discovered he was too weak to drink.

"No more. Not now. You'll get sicker. Here. Eat this. It's not much, but it's not polluted either."

It was a square of a Hershey's chocolate bar.

"My last meal. Oh well. Everyone always though I'd die in a woman's arms."

She looked curiously over his shoulder and touched the circle on his chest.

"You seem a little dim, Tony. I take it dehydration isn't your only problem."

"Yes, the lights are going out on Tony Stark. Do you think you could help me with a few repairs to my chest plate?"

"Sure. Piece of cake." She agreed in her Brooklyn tough guy accent.

She helped him take off his undershirt.

"Oh fuck!"

"How bad is it?"

Liv frowned.

"Now, if I had a soldering gun, a couple of bar magnets, some copper wire and a car battery, I'd be in business. No problem. Basic stuff."

A couple of bar magnets, a soldering gun, some copper wire and a car battery?

He thought about it.

"Of course. Broken wires. While I repair the chest plate, you could hook the bar magnets up to the car battery with the copper wires, put them in the housing for and keep me alive. Too bad we don't have any of that."

"We will. Nobody dies on my watch unless I kill 'em. Relax, I could fix that thing in my sleep."

"Are you a mechanical genius, too?"

"Yeah. I can fix anything."

She began emptying the pockets of her paratrooper pants, and produced a canteen of water, a flask, three Hershey bars, two bananas and a miniature flashlight, and hid them under the bunk.

"You stay there and think about what kinda old car you always wanted to have that you can get from the junkyard so's I can show you I can fix anything, while I go ask for my phone call and see what I can find."

"What if you don't come up with anything?"

She thought about it.

"I'll have to bust you out the way you are. I'll break into the safe where they got my guns, and shoot it out with these local pigs I can lift about one-fifty in dead weight, for sure, but if push comes to shove I think I can get youse over my shoulder. I'll shoot our way out, and steal a car and give your ass a jump from the battery, which ougtta hold youse till I can get over the border. I know a place where we can get across, no questions. That way, I might have to kill a few of these poor bastards, but, hey, better them than us."

She winked at him, and called to the guard, in Spanish, that she would like to make a phone call.

Nice girl.

***

Napalm was gone for about five minutes.

The guard locked the cell behind her and they waited until the guard fell asleep again.

"What did you come up with?"

From her pockets, Liv produced an 8 cell battery, a length of lamp cord, two large magnets she unscrewed from the inside of filing cabinet drawers, and a roll of duct tape.

"The phone wasn't working. But I can patch you up well enough to get you well enough to get us out of here with this stuff. I take it you have a spare?"

"At my hotel. But we don't need a spare if either of us you can fix those broken wires. That's not the problem."

"What problem? We don't have no problem. You need a temporary power source while I fix your permanent one. It's all a matter of execution…"

She produced a Swiss Army knife from her pocket and popped the knife.

"Time to get to work."

***

She worked quickly, efficiently and fastidiously, carefully stripping the lamp cord of its insulation.

She took a pen and a piece of paper out of her pockets and started scribbling.

"I can't do math in my head, I'm sorry."

She examined her calculations.

"Do you want to check me?"

"No. I trust Jon's judgment. He is a god, after all."

"Does that make me an angel?"

"Well, you are saving my life."

Then, she methodically wrapped the two magnets with exactly the same amount of windings.

She just as carefully attached the wires to the terminals, and tested the apparatus, three times, to make sure it worked.

"Will it hurt youse if I get on top of you?" Liv asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Certainly not." He said.

_Well, at least if we're going to die, it will be with a pretty girl on top of us._

That's exactly what I was thinking

"Okay. Here we fuckin' go. I'm gonna take off the housing and remove the cell, now." She said, almost absently, her mind in her work.

Tony's mind was in her work, too.

"Don't lose those screws."

"They're in my pocket. Now what?"

"Take the lid by the metal part and turn it counter-clockwise three times."

The protective covering popped off of the apparatus.

"Wow. That's some kind of work, there, in the housing. What kind of metal is that, titanium?"

"Actually, it's an alloy of titanium and adamantium."

"Rust-proof and unbreakable. Alright, now I'm going to pull the, I suppose it's a battery unit, the battery unit out of the housing. When I do that, you stick the magnets to the side. Got the magnets?"

"Got the magnets."

"Okay, I'm gonna to count to t'ree. On t'ree, I'll unplug the wire from the housing to the left side of the battery, and you apply the magnet. Then, we'll do the same thing for the right. Ready?"

"Ready."

"One…two…t'ree!"

"Left magnet working."

"How do you know?"

"I felt the jolt from the power supply."

"Okay. Ready for right magnet?"

"Ready.  
"One…two…t'ree?"

Tony felt Liv's battery apparatus jolt his heart out of the sluggish irregularity it had been limping through with the defective unit, and as it began to beat more normally, he jerked, involuntarily, and gasped.

"TONY!"

"I'm alright, Napalm. That was a good gasp. I can't believe it. That five dollar battery is working better than the one I invented."

She got up off of him.

"I was hoping I calculated the amount of windings right. It's working because you're actually getting current. Unlike with this…which I think I can fix. Theoretically. I mean, I knew how you built it, theoretically, but…"

For the first time since he was tossed into the cell, Tony felt well enough to sit up.

"But it would be easier if you just let me borrow your knife and held the flashlight, because I know exactly what to do."

As she watched him work, Tony realised that she was committing everything he did to memory.

Weighing, analysing, cross-checking, the wheels in her mind were spinning furiously.

"That's a beautiful piece of work. Tesla was right." She observed.

Carefully, he had spliced most the broken wiring back together and then covered the splices with strips of duck tape.

"Tesla was always right. The day I realised that was the day that everything I've ever created became possible. Okay. We're ready to reconnect. I'll lie down again, and we'll replace the unit the same way we took it out."

After the last count of three, they were rewarded for their efforts by a soft bluish-white glow.

Tony Stark took his first unhampered breath in two days.

Liv replaced the protective bullet-proof glass and titanium/adamantium circular shield back over the unit.

"It's glowing. Is it working?" she said.

"Well, considering that I'm suddenly thinking about how nice it is to have you straddling me, instead of being in tremendous pain and worrying that every shallow breath might be my last, I'd say it is."

"Don't you need to recharge your batteries?"

"You wrote the Tesla paper. You ought to know the effect is…instantaneous."

Liv got up.

"I think you need a little more rest before you take on me and the world, Tony. Now, realistically, how do you feel?"

Tony thought about it.

"Well, I feel it would be safe to have another drink of water, because I can walk to the toilet now without the possibility of cardiac arrest, but I think I'd still need help to get there."

"There's enough water here for both of us. I'll help you get up, if you need to."

***

Several times over the next 12 or 14 hours, perhaps more, Liv walked all six one and two hundred pounds of him to the unspeakably dirty toilet and back again, holding him up with her strong, sturdy rather curvy body, and then back to the bunk.

Tony didn't know how much time passed that way, with her giving him water to drink, and food, and helping him walk, and talking about Tesla and Einstein and Shakespeare and Napoleon, her fingers running quietly through his hair as he continued to sleep with his head across what he began to think of as her very welcoming thighs.

The next time he really noticed, the sun was high in the sky and he was feeling much better.

Well enough to get up and walk across the cell on his own and then return to the narrow cot and wake Napalm.

She sat up, and rubbed her eyes, and yawned.

"I see you're feeling better, today."

"Much. In fact, I feel fine. I'm hungry, and thirsty and it's taking my breath away how much this place stinks and how much I stink. I'm ready to go back to civilization. If only I had a drink."

Liv passed him her flask.

"Well, this isn't usually how I start the day. I usually have coffee, as well. Still, bottoms up."

He took a drink.

"Remy-Martin? Good choice of brandy."

"I never drink cheap booze. Gives you hangovers."

"So, how do you feel about checking out of this dump, Napalm?"

"I like that idea. The service here is fuckin' lousy."

She looked over at the guard.

"Where's the suit?"

"On standby, in my hotel room."

"And I take it that's your briefcase over there that the guard has his feet on."

"Yes it is. And the remote is in my briefcase."

Liv grinned.

"You ever break outa jail, before?" she asked.

Such savoire faire.

Such mad, merry joie de vivre.

Such a lunatic.

A woman after his own swashbuckler's heart.

"No. But I imagine it's going to be a lot of fun." Tony replied, that old Errol Flynn twinkle in his eye.

"Right. I have a plan. I need you to be desperately ill."

"You mean in a method acting Marlon Brando sort of way or in a ham actor Lionel Barrymore sort of way?"

"Ham it up."

Tony gasped, and clutched his stomach.

He made a choking, gurgling sound , and started twitching, then he hurled himself onto the floor and began convulsing, quite convincingly, clutching his chest, now, and moaning in mock pain.

Liv rushed over to the bars.

"Guard! Guard, this man is very sick! He had a bad heart! He needs the doctor! Please, help! Help!"

The guard was the sort of unpleasant man who did little to dispel the stereotypes of sadistic prison guards or greasy frito banditos.

"So, _gringa_, now you need my help, for your new _gringo_ friend, eh? Okay. I help you. But if you want me to be nice to you, you have to be nice to me." He oozed.

"Please, no. Not that!"

Liv wrung her hands and clutched them together, close to her heart, shrinking from the bars.

Tony nearly laughed.

Liv was doing some fairly good melodrama, herself.

He decided to get into the act, and laboriously lifted his head from the ground, reaching out one arm, vainly, as if to protect the poor little white woman from the clutches of the evil bandito.

"No! You monster! You filthy animal! I'll…I'll kill you if you touch her!" he gasped.

The guard actually laughed, evilly.

"Shut you fucking mouth, _gringo_! You can't even stand up. If you know what's good for you, you'll lie there quietly and turn your face to the wall, or better yet, maybe I make you watch."

He leered at Liv.

"As for you, I seen you sitting on this one's useless _pinga_. Forget about this drunk. I got what you need. I know you gonna like it."

Liv took off her undershirt, and whipped up some quick tears.

"Don't worry, darling! This man can have my body, but he'll never touch my soul, the way you have!" she cried.

_Tony! Did you see those tits?_

Yes, brain. I sure did.

Now how am I ever going to get into the suit?

The guard made haste to come to the cell, and as soon as he was within arm's reach, Liv dropped the act.

She thrust her fist through the bars and into the man's solar plexus with such force that Tony could hear the impact on the guard's flesh.

He folded up around her fist, gasping.

"Ya know somethin', chief? You're right. I do like it."

The guard fell to his knees, and Liv grabbed him by the back of his neck and smashed his head into the bars until he crumpled in a heap on the ground.

It was very quick, very brutal, and very professional.

She turned around, still naked from the waist up, with blood on her hands.

"I hope this doesn't scare you off." She said.

"Not me. I like a woman with spirit." Tony quipped

"Throw me my shirt."

She wiped her hands on the wall, put her shirt on and got the guard's keys.

They dragged him into the cell, and tied his hands and feet with duct tape, and put a square of it over his mouth.

Then they locked him in.

As Tony went for his briefcase, Liv unlocked a drawer from which she produced a double shoulder holster, an ankle holster, two nickel plated .45 automatic Colt pistols with pearl handles, one Saturday night special, and a Buck clasp knife.

After re-arming herself, she pulled a denim vest with patches and buttons of dubious repute all over it out of the drawer, and also a wallet.

She put the vest on and stuffed the wallet into a pocket of the fatigue pants and buttoned it.

"Ready?"

"And you need me to have the Iron Man suit because…" Tony joked, as he programmed the remote.

Liv crossed her arms and rapidly pulled both guns.

"Isn't anybody gonna come and shoot it out with us?" she complained.

"We don't need to have a shootout. Not when I've got the suit." Tony said, absently, looking at the screen on the remote in his hands.

She's like the centrefold for Soldier of Fortune.

"You might want to put the armoury away, and get under that desk right about now."

They hid under the big wood and metal desk.

"So, should I make a discreet little hole just big enough for the suit to come in and then us to go out, or should we leave a big, insulting hole and take out the whole roof?"

"Let's make it as messy as possible. Can I push the button? I like destroying things as much as I like fixing them."

"Sure. Push that button. Right there. Now, duck."

There was a lovely big _BOOM_ as the suit remotely blew a large, insulting hole in the roof, and the suit landed, directly in the desk's chair.

"I hear shouting from the other room. I'll barricade the door."

Liv leapt out from under the desk.

Tony was thinking how glad he was that he had programmed the remote to disassemble the suit and reassemble it on him as he watched Liv push the file cabinet across the room and then tip it over in front of the door.

"That was fast." She commented.

Tony put his helmet on.

He crouched down.

"Alright, Napalm. Time for a piggyback ride. Are you afraid of heights?"

"Shit, man, the only thing I'm afraid of is that they'll outlaw fucking and bring back Prohibition." Liv replied.

She got on his back, wrapped her arms tightly across his chest and her legs tightly across his waist.

Tony noted, for future reference, that she had a very good grip.

"Now, as Clark says, up, up, and away!"

He was so glad to be in the air and alive and out of jail, he almost forgot that he had a passenger.

"The trick is not to look down. There's a microphone where my ear is, talk into that. "

"You sound like when somebody talks into a fan."

"I know. I'm working on a better voice chip for the helmet. Are you alright?'

"Fine. I've flown with Clark, before. Can you get a fix on my car? It's over the border, on the American side. 1963 Buick Super Wildcat. Black, with chrome detailing."

"What's the plate?"

"Napalm."

"Of course. Got it. We should be there in a few minutes. Is that part of your Justice League training? Flying with Superman?"

"No. I was on the expressway, coming back to the city from upstate, in my '67 Stingray. I was drunk, and I took a curve too fast and shot through the guard rail and over the embankment. The car flipped and landed on the roof and I was trapped inside, and then I smelled gas. So I got on the Superhero Defence Network and called for help. Clark had to come and rescue me in a big fuckin' hurry. That was the worst accident I ever had. I broke my arm, my leg, and my collarbone. I managed to save the Stingray, though. I had to rebuild the SOB from the ground up, but I gottta way with cars. If it hasn't blown up, I can fix it."

Iron Man landed smoothly beside the Wildcat, which was parked in the brush.

"Take this baby. I bought it from a guy at the junkyard, when I was 16. It was wrecked. But I took one look at it and fell in love. I knew I could bring it back to life. And look at him now. He's perfect. My little tank."

Liv carefully removed the branches that she had use to hide the car as Iron Man packed his suit and the remote into his briefcase.

Tony noticed she was limping a little.

"Are you hurt?"

"Naah. I hadda little leg injury recently in this fight. It's okay. I'm pretty much better."

She ran her hand over the gleaming black hood of the car like she was giving and old friend a big hug.

"I got, like, seven cars and three motorcycles, but this is my baby. Before I got my hands on it, the engine had three speeds. Fast, Super-Sonic, and Warp. You wouldn't believe how it goes, now. And I've been shot at in this car, I've driven it through buildings, hell, me and Wolverine pretty much lived in it for a couple of months. Nothing stops it."

"You did a beautiful job, Napalm."

She opened the trunk for him and it was packed with gear, including a violin case.

"Do you play the violin?"

"Nope."

Liv smiled, evilly.

She opened up the violin case, and inside it was a well-oiled and painstakingly cared for Thompson submachine gun.

"You have a chopper. I can't believe you have a fucking chopper! You're insane, you do realise that, don't you?" Tony said, admiringly.

He nestled the suit on top of some camping equipment, closed the trunk and got in the car with Liv.

The interior was canary yellow leather, polished and buffed to a soft matte sheen.

"Where to?"

"Well, I was staying in LA, but let's go to San Diego. It's closer. I need a bath. And a decent meal. And a good night's sleep. And a drink."

"Open the glove compartment."

Tony opened the glove compartment to find a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels.

"I never leave home without it." Liv joked.

"You're a fine girl, Napalm."

"Nope. Just a drunk."

Tony grinned and took a long pull.

"I'll drink to that." He said.


	2. Drunk and Disorderly

**Chapter Two: Drunk and Disorderly**

**California, 1971**

**I: Tony**

Tony looked idly out the window, watching the desert scream by at an alarming rate as he took another swig of whiskey.

Chugging whiskey out of the bottle made Tony feel like some stumbling gutter drunk.

Not that he didn't already know he was a, a rather heavy drinker, maybe not a drunk per se, but there was a difference between being a high class boozer partaking of a few mixed drinks in crystal glasses, even if ice was all they were mixed with, and chugging Jack Daniels right out of the bottle because you haven't had a drink in three days and it made you feel even worse than dehydration and a sluggish heart.

Oh well. Bottoms up.

Wait.

There was the bottom.

Shit.

"Napalm, I'm not sure how to say this to you as we drive over this long stretch of trackless desert, but, I drank all your whiskey."

Napalm just laughed.

"You think a drunken Mick like me would hand the last of the booze to a lush like you without reinforcements? I got half a case of Jack in the trunk under the sleeping bags. Gimme the dead soldier and I'll go get another bottle. And somethin' with a little nutritional value. Can't drink whiskey all day on an empty stomach, you'll be pukin' out your guts by nightfall. I'll wait till we get to one of those pull-offs and we'll park the car for awahile."

A few miles down, she pulled over.

Tony followed her out of the car as she moved the sleeping bags, put the empty bottle in and took a full bottle out.

"So, you just, come right out and say it, huh?"

"Say what?"

"That you drink too much."

Liv spoke absently as she unpacked a blanket and went to lift a medium sized cooler, which Tony took over for her.

"No, I don't drink too much. I'm your stereotypical shanty Irish drunk. On a good day, I start boozing at breakfast, and I drink all day long until it's time to go to bed at night, and I don't pass out or puke all over myself. On a bad day I drink so much I pass out or black out and when I wake up, I don't know where the fuck I am, or where the fuck I've been. On a real bad day, which happens three or four times a year, I go on these binges where I drink whiskey like it was beer and beer like it was water for days and I go into this state where I become the avatar of chaos and I destroy everything in my path. Things, people, myself, anything. When it passes, badguys are dead, cars are wrecked, bars are destroyed, regular people are hurt and I am spending a few days in bed with a broken something or a stab wound and a few times a bullet, recovering. Yeah, I'm a drunk."

Liv had spread out the blanket and she was now sitting on it and opened the cooler.

"And those would be the Troubles?"

"You betcha. Alright, it works!"

"What works."

"My doohickey."

"You're what?"

Liv pointed to a small metal box with a plastic housing around it duct taped to the side of the cooler.

"My doohickey. Liquid nitrogen and little Tesla coils and some of my own little technical tricks. Keeps my beer and my emergency food cold. A little experiment of mine I made at the lab in my free time."

"Can I touch it without my fingers freezing off?"

"Nope. That's what the plastic box is for. I'm still working on it. I applied for a patent, though."

"I never thought of this. Napalm, tell me why you thought of this before I thought of this?"

"Because you never spent four months in the wilderness in the Great White North, stopping for ice every time you found some dump that sold it. Not only did it piss me off my beer got warm, I was always worrying mine and Logan's food was gonna go bad. I mean, maybe he can kill a deer and eat it raw, but I'm a city girl, you know? I thought this out and when I got home again, I built it, and it works. Benny Grossmann made this stuff for me before I left New York, and it's still good."

"Wait a minute. You're telling me this is Grossmann's food? "

"Yup. Ain't science great? Watch those lids, man. That's Alfred's Tupperware. I promised him I wouldn't mess it up."

"Is there no end to your resourcefulness?"

"I always some prepared."

It was sunny, and hot, but the jail had been damp and dark, so Tony didn't mind the desert heat for a little while.

"Am I eating everything? I'm sorry. I haven't had a decent meal in ages."

"Don't worry about it, Tony. Have another beer, too. I got another 12 cans in the car."

"Aren't you going to tell me not to drink so much?"

"Nope. I got my reasons. You must have yours."

"I'm not sure what mine are."

"Really? I know exactly why I'm a drunk. And it's not because I've seen too much. Although I have seen too much, but I been seein' it literally all my life. I don't ever remember not wanting to be a mask, and I decided what side of the cape I was going to be on when I was six. I do the dirty jobs, but I was born to it, yunno. I can take it. But drinking makes it easier. Still, I think I drink so that I can deal with me. Not the world. It's a war inside my head, man. My brains always roaring at me like a jet engine. Even when I'm sleeping. No peace. No quiet. Ever. And I can't control it. So, happy days."

Liv cracked another beer.

"That jet engine thing? As you get older and you grow into your intelligence, it gets better." Tony told her.

"That's good to know. Won't help the rest of it, though. Bad memories. That kind of shit."

"Maybe that's my reason. Cheers!"

He cracked another beer.

Liv tapped on his chest.

"Pretty bad, huh? Especially a guy like you. Never saw the dirt in his life, and all of the sudden, you're in the sewer. They torture you?"

"Of course."

"They fuck you?"

"What? No! Jesus, Napalm, what kind of question is that to ask?"

"What? I know sometimes when they torture you, they fuck you."

"They wanted me to work, not break completely."

"Did you break?"

"Not as much as I thought I would. Would you know anything about that, Napalm? Torture?"

"Torture? A little. I was helpin' Logan out, and Hydra got me. They got somebody to try and pick my brain, and he couldn't. So then they tried this high-tech pain and pressure point shit. Hurt like a motherfucker. Anyway, after that didn't work, this big bruiser came in, and tried to fuck me. He wasn't bad looking, I thought about killing him after he was done, but then I figured since It was supposed to be torture he was probably going to beat me up and fuck me in the ass, so I waited until he got on top of me and I got him in a leg-lock and snapped his neck. Then I escaped. How many did you take with you when you escaped?"

"About a hundred. But I had the suit. You?"

"About fifteen. But they were doing all that samurai shit, and I managed to liberate my chopper."

"You're one tough son-of-a-bitch, aren't you?"

"I got no choice. Now you don't either. Hey, you wanna have a lie down and I'll help you put in the spare chest piece?"

"That's a good idea."

***

After the operation, they were back on the road again.

There was definitely a lot more to Liv Napier than her bad reputation warranted.

She was insanely well-prepared, and despite admittedly being an extremely eccentric alcoholic with a mercurial temperament and a passionate love of entropy, she ran her life with a military kind of precision and discipline.

She probably needed same just to keep body and soul together.

Along with the cases of Newcastle Brown and Jack Daniels in the trunk, there was a tent, two sleeping bags, a blanket, three boxes of cartridges, a small cooler, a first-aid kit, probably a change of clothes or two, and a machine gun.

She also had nerves of steel; she stuck her hand into his chest twice without so much as shaking; the second time she produced her first aid kit and did some cleaning and sterilising in and around the housing.

After looking down the housing with a flashlight, and telling Tony it looked to her like his heart was beating just fine, but her knowledge as an evolutionary biologist was rudimentary as to medicine.

All while she was sitting on top of him, with her stupendous tits rubbing up against him.

And she was also a great driver.

He was getting used to drinking straight from the bottle.

"Hey, good-lookin'. Pass the bottle."

He passed the bottle to Liv.

_Good lookin'? Isn't that something a man usually says to a woman?_

Relax, brain.

We're feminists now, remember.

Besides, I am good-looking.

_True._

She was driving with one hand and she took a long drink, wrapping her lips around the mouth of the bottle in a way that made him feel a little uneasy in the best possible way.

She leaned over him to toss the bottle into the glove compartment, then threw her hand onto the gearshift, holding it from a moment and rolling the knob across her palm before she forcefully shifted gears, popping the clutch and stomping on the accelerator.

As the big Buick surged forward, Tony couldn't help but notice she let out a little gasp as she turned the radio up on her Chuck Berry tape.

Her face was a little flushed, her lips were parted, her eyes flashed and she squirmed a little against the yellow leather seat.

He could see her nipples, taut and straining, poking against the ribbed fabric of the fatigue undershirt, and, thinking about how they felt poking against his chest, he licked his lips.

My God, I'll never go into an Army surplus store again without getting a hard-on.

At first he thought she was putting on a show for his benefit, and then he realised that she wasn't.

She likes danger, she loves speed, she likes it a lot, and she likes the way she can control it.

It's turning her on.

She's turning me on.

_Tony._

Go away, brain. I'm busy.

_But you very nearly died the other day. And we don't know just how well the chest plate is fixed and_

Tony shut the nagging voice out of his consciousness.

He had important things to think about, and he could think of very few things in life that were more important than fucking.

It wasn't often you met the kind of woman you could do some serious, down and dirty fucking with. One way or the other, whether it was love, jewellery, cash or to meet that producer or director or agent, most of the women Tony ran into were looking for something besides camaraderie, class and cock, three things of which he had much, much more than the average man.

Which was a crime, because, a woman could get money and jewellery from any rich man, and lies about love from any man at all, and the producers and agents themselves were always accepting applicants for the casting couch.

All the more reason why a delicate flower of drunken eccentricity, casual brutality, and intemperate horniness such as Liv Napier was truly a woman who should not only be cherished as a strong and beautiful woman, but respected as to her independence, her personal choices and her unique needs, in a way that only a modern man, a feminist, and not an archaic judgemental male chauvinist pig would behave.

Which means I am going to fuck her, hard, in multiple positions, until I'm balls deep in her sweet little red snapper and she's screaming my name and sobbing, with tears of joy running down her face.

God, I love being a feminist.

Tony handed Liv the bottle again and as she took a drink, he put his hand on her thigh, letting his fingers trail over to where her thigh met her body, tickling her a little.

Somehow his thumb made its way to the seam of her paratrooper pants.

Heat seeped through the worn canvas.

Deftly, Tony unbuttoned a few buttons on the fly of her pants and was surprised to find boxers instead of panties, but all the better for him to slip his hand inside.

I never thought I'd be putting my hand inside the flap on somebody's shorts.

Liv gasped, and capped the bottle.

She tossed it, and gave him a burning, hungry look as she grabbed his hand and urged it further.

Her head fell back a little and she moaned, showing him her lovely white throat.

Tony ignored his brain's frantic protests that they were going over a hundred miles an hour as he leaned across the seats and slid his other hand under the fatigue a-line shirt as he kissed her neck.

He moved his lips up to her ear, whispering breathily.

He liked talking dirty to girls, most of them liked it, too, whether or not they waned to admit to it.

"Mmm, I've been wanting to touch your stupendous tits for days. You naughty girl, rubbing them all over me. You've been bad. And you must be punished. Pull over, you little red devil, Daddy wants to fuck."

Napalm let out an unholy whoop and wrenched the wheel.

The car careened off the road, brakes squealing, tires burning, sand and gravel and dust flying everywhere.

The back end fishtailed and the front end dipped and then the car ground to an abrupt stop on the dusty side of the long desert highway.

They both put their hands on the gearshift and thrust it into first as Liv turned the key off.

"Get in the back." Liv growled.

She didn't even open the door, she just crawled into the back and Tony smacked her on the ass.

He had to get out of the car to move, though, and he kicked his shoes off before getting out and wrenched open one of the back doors.

She was already naked, and waiting for him.

And she was a real redhead, too.

"Shit, I forgot to take the guns off." Napalm said.

"Leave 'em on. It's a kick I haven't tried."

He let her watch him take off his pants and his dirty undershirt and got back into the car, pulling the door shut and sliding over top of her.

She had her hard, tattooed little hand all over his cock; she was already guiding him into her little red snapper.

Tony gasped.

"You think you're dirty, don't you, Tony? Nobody's dirtier than me." She laughed

"We'll see about that. No, no, my dear, move your leg this way."

"My leg doesn't go that way."

"Yes it does. Let me. I won't hurt you. I'm a trained yoga master."

He had his hand on her ankle, and turned to kiss her calf.

His back was against the roof of the car, but that was alright.

"You see, when you have your leg like that, I can do…._this_!"

She howled.

Like a dog.

Like a bitch in heat.

Oh, my.

The girl fixed him with a look of furious lust.

"Yeah, well, I can do _this_. I'm self-taught. Oooo, Tony, you're glowing."

It was like a million tiny deft fingers gripping his cock at once.

The whole interior of the car was bathed in intense blue light.

"That's because you're so bad, baby…. I love it…Now, tell me how you want me to give you all…this…cock."

Her eyes were closed, she was eating up every single thrust like it was ice cream on a hot day.

"Hard."

"I knew you would. Open your eyes, Napalm. Look at me while I'm fucking your hot little burning bush."

Napalm opened her eyes.

They were dark and feral with her lust as groans and snarls and screams came out of her white throat.

She was strong, so strong, and pushed back against him with such force that she was smacking his back against the roof of the car, over and over again.

_THUD! THUD! THUD!_

Sweat was pouring down the sides of his face and the small of his back and his ears were ringing like a fire alarm.

"You're a little animal, aren't you? I'll bet you can take it all, can't you? Tell me how much you want."

"I want it all!" she roared.

Tony pulled out of her, completely, panting, and he was thinking about teasing her for a little while, but she didn't seem like the kind of girl who liked to be teased, and there were guns within reach.

He bent over her to encircle her nipples with his tongue and she made a fist in his hair, holding his head against her.

"I don't know. I think I might be too big for your tight little red pussy. Maybe you can't take it."

"Don't tease me, Tony. I don't like to be teased."

"I want to tell you something, baby. Before I fill your burning bush fuller than it's ever been before. Ask me what…"

He whispered softly in her ear, nibbling her earlobe, as he caressed her breasts and rolled her nipples between his fingers.

She moaned, writhing beneath him.

"What?" she finally capitulated.

_Tony, it's so corny…_

Shut up, brain. I'm working.

And I've been wanting to do this for years.

He reared up, grabbling Liv's other ankle in his other hand, pulling the mouth of her pussy down over the head of his cock.

"I AM IRON MAN!"

He thrust into her as hard as he could, burying his cock in her all the way up to his balls, over and over and over again.

Liv let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a roar, and knocked him against the door with the force of her hips.

His head smacked against the window and she almost knocked the wind out of him.

God damn, this was some serious fucking.

We're going to need a bigger bed.

"Mmmm, baby, you were made to fuck, weren't you? Come for me, that's a good girl. Come for Daddy. Come on."

She bucked against him, rearing up off the seat, and Tony let her legs go, and clasped her against his chest, his hands around her hips.

She undulated against him, her knees pressing against the car window, rubbing her tits all over him and squeezing his cock, creaming all over his balls.

"Oooo…oooo…oh fuck…fuck yeah….oooo…your turn, Tony." She gasped.

He had wanted to make it last longer, but he was losing control , she was driving him crazy, it felt insanely good.

And she was still coming, now she was sitting astride his cock, her tits bouncing against his chest as she rode him hard.

The light from his chest piece was blinding him.

"Fuck me, I'm having a meltdown. Oh, fuck!" Tony moaned.

"Feel like you're on fire, don'tcha? That's…uhh!....why they call me Napalm. I'm gonna _make_ you come." She gasped.

"And I'm going to make you watch." Tony grunted.

He lowered her back onto the seat and kept fucking her, until he was just about to come and then he pulled his cock out of her and reared up.

He heard her snarl and watched her take his cock in her fist as he started to come all over her tits.

She leaned forward, her long red hair all over both of them, all over the car, wrapped her lips around his cock, sucking him hard as he came and then and, looking up at him with a diabolical smile in her eyes, she licked the head of his cock clean.

Tony made a horrible strangled sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a moan and a scream, grabbed hold of her head with both hands and she took him in like a sword swallower at the carnival.

"Take it, baby! Suck me hard, you take it all!"

He came a second time on a wave of lust so dumbfounding that he nearly passed out.

Tony Stark fell back against the window, sitting on his heels, talking in air in big gasping gulps

"You're so dirty, Tony. You really are. " Liv sighed, leaning back into the seats, licking her lips.

"You win! I give up!" he cried.

He collapsed on top of her, and Liv put her arm around him.

"You're a real good fuck, sugar. But nobody's dirtier than me, chief. I'm the goddamn dirtiest girl in the world."

She was running her fingers through his hair for awhile, the way she had at the jail , but then she stopped because she had fallen asleep, and he fell asleep, as well.

***

Tony didn't wake up until they were in the parking lot of the hotel he'd directed her to go to.

Liv opened the door, grinning at him as he lifted his head off the seat, still naked, blinking in the sunlight.

"Wha…?  
"We're here, Mr. Stark. Get dressed." She smirked.

Obviously gloating that she knocked his ass out.

Wasn't fair.

After all, he wasn't up to speed, yet.

Tony pulled on his hastily discarded clothes and staggered out of the car, yawning, and sleepily followed Liv to the door, muttering to himself about a rematch.

She was walking funny, and for a minute he wondered if he's been a little too zealous and then Tony remembered she said she was hurt, and he noticed when they were naked that she had a foam knee brace and an Ace bandage on.

"Napalm, you are definitely limping. You're dragging your leg. Should you be on that leg, at all?"

"No. But I lost my goddamn crutches, someplace. Although, I gotta say, my leg feels better, now, Mr. Yoga Master."

"We'll get you some crutches. Until then, may I offer you my arm?"

"Certainly."

Now, Napalm, who commonly was attired, as Logan once pointed out, like a 'Nam vet with shell shock, was used to getting dirty looks from snooty hotel managers and clerks until she pulled out her wallet, but it was a new experience for the usually impeccably dressed Tony Stark.

"Why is he looking at us like that? I always stay here."

"Because we look like we've been a Mexican jail for two or three days. And we smell like it too. That and you're barefoot, and your undershirt is on backwards."

"Oh. I begin to see why you dress like this, Napalm. When people aren't kissing your ass for you all the time, you get to see their true nature. Interesting. Unfortunately, I have grown quite accustomed to having my ass kissed."

"I'm not surprised. You've got a great ass."

"Thank you."

"Well, it's different for you than me. Seriously, man. You're six foot one, you look like a combination of Sean Connery and Errol Flynn, the sight of you in a tux makes grown men cry and every woman who sees you takes about one minute to start thinking about how it would feel to be underneath you with her legs around your waist. Me, I'm just a little Irish mutt from Brooklyn."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Napalm. You are not a little mutt. I think you're very pretty, no matter how hard you try to hide it. Pretty all over. And I'm in a position to know. You just fucked my brains out."

"Was I too much for you?"

"Hell, no! As soon as I have a little nap and a bath and I get my bearings, you're going to find out what I can really do. I rescind my concession. You exacted it under duress. We shall see who is the raunchiest of all. Of course you know, this means war!"

Tony gave Napalm his best swashbuckling grin.

She grinned back.

By this time, they were at the front desk.

"May I help you, sir?" the clerk asked, as condescendingly as possible.

Tony looked down on him.

"No. I don't deal with lackeys. Get me the manager. Well? Get me the manager, now!"

The clerk wasn't sure who the dirty, shabby man was, but if he was acting like he was important, he must be.

The manager recognised Tony immediately, Mexican jail dirt and all.

The glowing circle beneath his undershirt was a big hint.

He turned to the clerk.

"You idiot! Do you know who this is? Never mind. Go away. Go take the next person in line. How are you today, Mr. Stark? How can we help you?"

"I feel capital, Mr. Livingston. Just capital. I'll need the Presidential Suite, for starters. And Ms. Napier lost her crutches in Tijuana, we'll need another pair. She looks to be about, oh five foot one, and I'd say about 145. And I'll need the closest possible suite to it for my personal secretary, who will be arriving tomorrow. And, oh, you know. Everything I usually need."

"You usual lunch, sir?"

"Of course. What about you, Liv?"

Liv got an impish look in her green eyes, which flashed yellowy with her sly grin.

"I could use a cheeseburger, some fries, a bowl of chicken soup, and a six-pack of Newcastle Brown. Cold. Also a carton of Luckies. No filters. And, let's see now. I need extra shampoo in the bathroom, I have a lot of hair. Pantene, please. And a shower cap. The kind with the satin lining. Extra large, please. Also some sandalwood soap. And two vials of imported Indian patchouli oil, and one of Sandalwood. And I need my vehicle to be parked in a secure location, I keep things of value in it."

She tugged on the chain that went from her belt to her back pocket and pulled out her wallet, from which she casually flicked a platinum American Express card.

"Liv, put that away. Your money's no good here. It's on me. This is my hotel, after all, and you and Bruce and Dick are always my guests, whenever you stay here. " Tony said, stopping her hand.

The manager called for the clerk he had just sent away.

"Did you get that, Jenkins?"

"Sir?"

"Here. I wrote it down. Here are your keys, Mr. Stark. And Miss, ah…"

"_Ms_. Napier. Trivelino J. Napier. The J doesn't stand for anything."

The manager blanched.

"Miss Napier, so nice to have you here in our hotel! Mr. Wayne has stayed her many times, as Mr. Stark said, as our special guest. I would offer you the Presidential Suite but…but…"

Liv let him stew for awhile.

"That's alright, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Stark and I have some important business to conduct during our stay; we have a lot of work to do and I'm sure the Presidential suite will be satisfactory to both of us."

"Thank you, Miss Napier. Jenkins! Get the elevator. _Now_!"

"Napalm, you are an evil woman." Tony told her.

"I know." Liv replied

***

"Wayne Manor, Alfred speaking. May I ask who is calling?"

"Hello, Alfred. It's Liv."

"We've been waiting to hear from you, Miss Trivelino. How is your recovery coming along?"

"I feel like a new woman, Alfred. I've just had the most interesting therapy. Could you put me on the secure line?"

"Certainly."

Liv waited on the line on Tony's S.H.I.E.L.D issue satellite phone.

"Batman speaking."

"It's Harlequin. We've got trouble."

"We, or you?"

"We. I was down in TJ, for a little R & R, and I went to a bar called El Loco Toro. No, it was Toro Loco. Whichevah. Anyway, after I only had three or four beers and one shot of tequila, I started to feel woozy. Really woozy. And you know me. I could fly a goddamn jet on that."

"I see."

Bruce Wayne took a deep breath and counted to ten.

He did not want to shout.

"Pop? Bruce?"

"Now, speaking as your stepfather, rather than as Batman, may I ask you a question, Liv?"

"Shoot, Pop."

"What the hell were you doing getting plastered in a bar in Tijuana when you were supposed to be drying out and recuperating from your leg injury at a S.H.I.E.L.D rehab facility in San Diego?"

Not shouting yet.

"C'mon, Bruce. They wouldn't even let me have _a_ beer for two weeks."

"That's because you were also supposed to be drying out! When, Liv? When are you going to stop? I knew you went over the wall. I didn't want to believe it, because I didn't trust the source, but I knew it."

"Who was the source?"

"Your father! _He sent the message to me in code over the Society of Supervillains emergency frequency!_"

Shouting now.

"Oh. Look, forget about the me goin' over the wall thing. I was drugged in that bar. Heavily. I staggered out into the street and collapsed, and when I woke up I was in the back of a cop car and the _federales_ were taking me to the local jail. They said I'd have to wait another day or two for the judge to come to town, and tossed me in the drunk tank. Guess who was already there?"

"I can't imagine."

"Tony Stark. And not only did they drug him, somebody tried to rip out his battery. He was dying."

"Oh my God, you're with Tony! Now I need a drink. Dying? What do you mean, dying? Is he alright?"

"Fine. The idiot who tried to take him out knew nothing about simple mechanics. All he did was break a few wires. I created a temporary power supply, we removed the broken unit, Tony fixed it, and then we re-installed the unit. I had some food and clean water with me, and I spent the next day or so looking after him, and then Iron Man broke us out of jail. I picked up my car just over the border, and now we're in that big time joint where you always stay in San Diego."

"What do you mean Iron Man broke you out of jail? You and Tony Stark were in the drunk tank in Tijuana and you broke out of jail! Liv, you really are your father's daughter, sometimes. I have to call Cap. And then, I'm calling your new partner. You are coming back to New York, kiddo! And you're not leaving the city again unless one of us is with you until further notice!"

"Bruce, you're taking this the wrong way. I'm 22 years old. You can't order me back to New York. And I'm telling you, someone is trying to kill me and Iron Man."

"Oh yes I can. As the vice-president of the Justice League, of which you are a trainee I can tell you to come to the next meeting in a pink tutu and you would damn well have to do it! Liv, before I get angrier, would you at least consider an alternative theory? Did it ever occur to you that you and Tony Stark are raging alcoholics, and that you pretty much start drinking when you get up in the morning and don't stop until you go to bed at night, and that you don't consider yourselves drunk as long as you are in a vertical position and not vomiting on your own shoes? So you had four beers and a tequila in that bar? What about what you drank the rest of the day? Tijuana is like Mecca for drunks. It's not beyond the realm of possibility that Tony got away from his secretary and went on a binge in Tijuana around the same time that you somehow escaped from the S.H.I.E.L.D facility, and when he staggered into the street outside the bar and fell onto the ground in a stupor he damaged his chest plate. And you made the same rounds of the same dives and ended up the same way a day or two later."

Liv thought about it.

"I don't buy it."

"Of course not. I'd rather think that there was some Mexican madman targeting masks than admit that I was going on a serious binge because it was my last hurrah before grow-up time, too. Just stay in San Diego for a few days until you've recovered from your binge and your stint in jail, and then come home. I'll give you four days, Liv. Four days. And then I'm calling your partner and he and Batman are coming to get you. Not me. Batman. So you had better get yourself home before I have to send them. It won't be pretty."

"I'll have proof by then, Bruce. You'll see."

"I'm sure you will. Put Mr. Stark on the phone, please."

A bellboy arrived with Liv's food, and everything else she ordered, and Tony opened the door to the suite's office to tell her.

"Sure. But Bruce wants to talk to you. I'm gonna go in the other room an' eat. Then I'm takin' a bath." Liv announced.

"Good. Because I have to make a million phone calls. Hello, Bruce."

"Don't you hello me! What the hell are you doing? Liv's just a kid, that's some kind of excuse! What's your excuse! You're a grown man, what is the matter with you?"

"I don't remember you giving Logan this speech. He spent four months with her, and every Wednesday since, and he's got a hundred years on me."

"It's not about that! Not that I don't think that what you've already done with my stepdaughter is reprehensible, considering she's a hopeless drunk who doesn't know which end is up! Then again I can't expect you to realise that because so are you! I mean what are you doing going on some drunken binge in Tijuana? What if my stepdaughter the mechanical genius didn't happen to be debauching herself at the same time? You would have died, Tony! Died like a dog in the drunk tank of a Mexican jail. You were drugged? Drugged, my ass! You fell down in the street because you'd been blind, stinking drunk for God only knows how many days, and you landed on your chest plate and broke it!"

"Bruce, you weren't there. I was. I saw the look I was getting from that bartender. I'm telling you, in 24 hours, I'll have proof that there is a conspiracy against my life. And the Harlequin's."

"No, Tony, in 24 hours you will have a hangover from the grand debauch that you and Liv are planning on having that I can do nothing about. But I know someone who can. I hate to do this to you, Tony, but you've fallen into your own cover story. You need to decide if you're going to be the President of Stark Industries, and Iron Man of the Avengers, or a rich drunk who sticks his pecker in everything with false eyelashes, silicone tits and a designer dress on. And I need my stepdaughter to come home and start her apprenticeship before she sinks into an alcoholic twilight, completely. Call your secretary. Tell her you're still alive. You have four days, Tony. Four. And then very bad things are going to happen. Very bad things. I'm going, now. Goodbye."

The line went dead.

Tony looked at the receiver.

"He's always so grim. And moody. Oh well, that's just Bruce. Now, who do I need to call first? Pepper. Definitely Pepper."


	3. Wanted: Dead or Alive

**Chapter Three: Wanted- Dead or Alive**

**Los Angeles, California**

**I: Pepper**

The first night that she had no contact from her employer, Pepper Potts wasn't too worried.

He had probably just taken a little trip over the border, to pain the town red with some Mexican girls in Tijuana for _Cinco de Mayo_.

Pepper called his doctor, and had his antibiotics filled from the last incident, just in case.

When the next day passed, and every check she made on Mr. Stark's adjoining suite found it empty, she began to worry.

Then, when he didn't answer any of his pages, she did her best not to panic.

After all, he is Iron Man, he may be on some kind of mission.

In Tijuana.

On the weekend of _Cinco de Mayo._

Right.

On the third day with no contact, Pepper contacted Captain America, who told her that if Tony was on a mission, the Avengers didn't know anything about it.

Shortly after that, she received a phone call from Rhodey.

He wanted to know where Tony was, too.

Pepper began making telephone calls to some of Mr. Stark's girlfriends.

She even called his favourite deli in Manhattan.

No luck.

On the morning of the third day, Nick Fury, himself, showed up at her suite, wanting to know where Tony Stark was.

He and Cap had been unable to locate Tony.

Even S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't know where he was.

At that point, Pepper decided it would be safe to panic, but she knew that she could not afford to do so.

She began checking hospitals in San Diego and Tijuana that afternoon, and was about to start checking with local police departments in both of those cities when the phone in her suite began to ring.

Pepper fairly dove for it.

"Tony, this had better be you!"

"Hello, Pepper. I'm so sorry you haven't heard from me. I'm going to need you to come to San Diego, and bring everything with you. I've got a suite reserved for you, in my hotel, right next to Presidential Suite."

"Where have you been? Nick Fury came here this morning looking for you! You might have called!"

"Actually, I wasn't in any shape to use my phone call. I've spent the last three or four days in a filthy jail cell in Tijuana. It was horrible. I was drugged in a bar, and whoever drugged me tried to rip my chest plate out. He broke a few wires and I was lying in a bunk, hovering at the brink of death. The place was unimaginably filthy and disgusting. It was just like the Mexican prisons in an old John Wayne movie."

"Oh my God! Are you alright? Have you been seen by a doctor?"

"That's what I was thinking. And I'm fine. I don't need a doctor. Fortunately, the Harlequin was in town, and she got drugged in the same bar and tossed into the same jail. She helped me do some repairs and nursed me back to health with fresh water, bananas, Hershey bars and Remy-Martin. As soon as I was up to it, we broke out of jail, and now I'm in San Diego. We're going to have to find out who did this to us and why, and who he's working for. And if he's got plans for any other masks. I tried to explain that to Bruce Wayne, but apparently if I don't have proof in four days, him and some mystery mask that he's apprenticed Liv to, and General Custer and the 7th Cavalry are swooping in. Of course it should only take us 12 hours. 24 hours, tops."

"We?"

"Yes, we. Pepper, the woman's a genius, and she has nerves of steel. And she saved my life. Tell me again why I let the feds hire her out from under me?"

"Let me see. I brought you her resume when she was fresh out of NYU and told you that I thought you should hire her. You glanced at it and told me that you ate lunch in the same place as she did and that you didn't want to hire any masks, that one superhero using Stark Industries as a cover was enough. I told you that Liv Napier had some rough edges, but she was recognised in the scientific community as one of the most brilliant minds of her generation, that she was Dr. Manhattan's intern at his lab, had been hand-trained by Batman, and that the Justice League took her on as a trainee when she was only 16. And you said that you didn't think a girl as young as she was could take on the kinds of responsibilities that a position at Stark Industries would entail. Then, last year, I got you a copy of her Tesla paper, and asked you if you wanted to make her an offer. You asked me why you hadn't pursued her more aggressively. I reminded you of what you said the year before and agreed with yourself again. You also said something about her possibly having help from Jon with the paper, which I found extremely insulting."

"I was full of shit. A male chauvinist pig."

"You certainly were."

"That was before I became a feminist. What was I thinking?"

"I believe you just thought that since she was just a girl, she couldn't be as smart as you were. A mistake that Dr. Manhattan didn't make. He hired her on in the same week that you tossed her resume. Now _Ms._ Napier is his principal assistant and he's supervising her graduate studies for her M.S. in quantum physics, as she already has an M.S. in history and one in evolutionary biology. I also gave you a copy of her thesis on Darwinian selection and the X-factor, in which she used the morphology of Wolverine's claws to prove that mutants are another step on the continuum of human evolution, not a separate species from homo sapiens."

"Napalm wrote that?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

"My God. And to think she wears men's military underwear. Oh well, all geniuses are eccentric, aren't they? But you're absolutely right, Pepper. I was an idiot. I admit it. Now I have to rectify my own stupidity. I want Liv Napier."

"It sounds to me like you've already had her."

"Very funny, Pepper. Now, how soon can you be here?"

"In about two hours, Mr. Stark."

"That's too soon. How about first thing in the morning?"

"Do you like her that much?"

"She's a fascinating woman, Pepper."

"Yes, she is. I will call Mr. Fury right away and tell him that you are alive and well and that you and the Harlequin are working on a special mission together in an undisclosed location. I'll be there at nine. Sharp."

"What would I do without you, Pepper?"

"I don't want to think about that, Mr. Stark."

"Neither do I. And get me everything on Trivelino J. Napier. Stark Industries is now officially very interested."

After she got off the phone with her employer, Pepper Potts placed a call to the Avengers Mansion.

"Hello? Tony?"

"No, Cap, it's Pepper. I found him. He's alive. It was a near miss, but he made it."

"What do you mean, a near miss? I just talked to Bruce Wayne, or rather I just listened to him scream incoherently at me for ten minutes or so. All I could get out of it was that his stepdaughter and Tony went on some kind of crazy booze and hanky-panky binge, together. The poor guy. Napalm is really driving him crazy. What happened?"

"Tony's version or what really happened?"

"What really happened? The short version."

"Tony went to Tijuana for _Cinco de Mayo_. He got extremely drunk and passed out in the street and damaged his chest plate. The _federales_ put him in the drunk tank, where he languished on the edge of death for a few days. Fortunately for him, the Harlequin was in town, debauching herself thoroughly, and got tossed in the same drunk tank. She helped him repair himself, nursed him back to health, and then they broke out of jail. They're in the Presidential Suite at Tony's hotel in San Diego, and they've convinced themselves that someone was trying to off them. It's good news for Ms. Napier, all the sudden Mr. Stark has realised she's a genius and he's hot to have her in a position of importance at Stark Industries. On the other hand, in that he told me not to be there until the morning, it's a safe bet he's hot to have her in a few other positions, as well. At least that and this murderer on the loose idea will keep them busy and happy until we can get their mess cleaned up for them and have them both safely back in New York." Pepper replied.

"Oh my God! What the hell…how could he…a grown man…on what goddamn planet…Iron Man for Chrissakes…he…I… Now I sound like Bruce! No wonder he was screaming incoherently! Go and get Tony. And bring him back here before four days. That is the most important part. Do you know who the Harlequin's been apprenticed to? Do you know who's riding in at high noon to clean up the town in four days?"

"No. Who?"

Captain America told her.

Pepper dropped the phone.

"Pepper?" she heard him say from the floor.

"Steve, he…he wouldn't!"

"Pepper, this is Bruce's little girl we're talking about. And she's in a real bad way with the drinking and the fighting and car crashes and everything she does to herself. If the bottle doesn't kill her, a knife, a gun, or a fiery accident will. And soon. He would. If I were him, I would."

"Don't worry. Mr. Stark will be back in three days. I want to give them both time to recover."

"That's probably for the best. If Napalm comes back in bad shape and her partner finds out she got that way with Tony, excuse my language, but, his ass is grass. I'll take care of explaining what happened to Nick. You just make sure that Tony and Napalm are rested and ready to return home as soon as possible."

"I'll be in San Diego soon, Cap. I'll see to it that everything is under control."

"When Tony gets back here, I'm going to knock him on his ass and send him to rehab."

"I'll have him packed and ready to go."

**II: Tony**

Pepper knew him all too well.

There was something that fascinated him about Liv Napier, and he wasn't sure if it was her independence, her brilliance, her merry madness, or her fierce intemperate horniness.

After taking a very long shower, he sauntered into the bedroom in a bathrobe.

Liv was not there.

"I'm in the office." She called.

She had her underwear on, which was sexier than you would have thought it was, and had tacked a large piece of paper to the wall and was sitting in front of some scrawled-on scraps, chewing on the end of a pen.

"If we're going to figure out who did this before Bruce's deadline, we'd better get to work. Business before pleasure, yunno." She said.

She had a point.

Tony sat down, and they got to work.

***

They spent hours and reams of paper, running scenarios, mapping out possibilities, and looking for evidence.

As night fell, they were only able to conclude that some person, at El Toro Loco (or Loco Toro) either for their own unknown reasons or the unknown reasons of other persons equally unknown had drugged his drink on one day, and hers a day or so later, and that the _federales_ had mistook them for drunks and thrown them in jail.

"We could always go back to TJ, in costume, and look around."

"We could. Or we could accept that Bruce is right."

"I refuse. Because if Bruce is right, then you and I are a couple of pathetic, shit-faced stumbling drunks badly in need of rehab before we manage to cut off our genius in its prime with some absurd and deadly mishap that comes out of an alcoholic twilight." Tony pronounced.

"Oh, I've already admitted that to myself. I went over the wall at the S.H.I.E.L.D rehab a week and a half into treatment on a bum leg to go and have one last drunken hurrah before I have to limit myself to a lifetime of moderation. In drinking, only, I mean." Liv admitted.

Tony was, albeit briefly, shocked into silence.

"In that case, why don't we call room service, have a few drinks, and then go to bed?"

"Sounds like a good idea. But I still say we never cop to it. That it was all our fault. After all, it's the principle of the thing. And we may be right, and Bruce may be wrong, after all."

"Napalm, I couldn't agree more."

***

It was late at night when the phone began to ring at Wayne Manor.

"Hello?" said the sleepy voice.

"Selena? It's Liv. Sorry to wake you, but me and Tony, we been workin' on this thing half the night. Can I talk to Bruce?"

"Wait a minute, Liv. He's not in the bed. But that's no surprise. I figured he'd be up worrying about you. "

She waited for the phone to change hands.

"Caught youse with your pants down, huh, Pop? What would the scandal sheets say?"

"The scandal sheets don't know Selena's and my secret identities. What time is it?"

"One. Two, maybe. Listen, Pop, after Tony and I crack this thing, I was thinkin', I'm gonna give the rehab joint another chance. Before I come back to the city. I owe it to my partner, and to you, an' the League to give it another try. I just wanted ta have one last hurrah. After I ice this Mex who was givin' us trouble, I'll go back to Superhero General. I just wanted youse to know that. Youse can get some sleep, now."

"I just might. Are you getting anywhere with your investigation?"

"Not yet. But we'll have something soon. I'll call you back."

"Why don't you two get some sleep? Maybe you'll be more reasonable in the morning."

"Prob'ly a good idea, Pop. G'night."

"Good night, Liv."

Bruce hung up the phone, and rolled over on his side.

Selena looked at the ceiling for awahile.

"Do you want me to tell You Know Who that Liv is okay?"

"Well I'm sure as hell not going to."

Batman got out of bed.

"I'm not tired. I'm never tired at night. Are you Selena?"

"Not really." Catwoman replied.

"Then let's go out."

"In costume, or out of it?"

"Very funny."

"Well, you know me, Bruce. I'm always up for a good scratch."

****

After dinner, over drinks, Iron Man and the Harlequin had a very heartfelt discussion.

"You know, Napalm, I hate to admit it, but most of the woman I sleep with I have no interest in ever speaking to again…"

"I'm the same way. I used to fuck a lot of real tough guys, but I almost got my dumb ass killed, so now I see Logan every Wednesday and stick to my groupies. Fuck 'em and forget 'em, that's what you do with them."

"…but I don't feel that way about you at all. Before I say anything else to you, though, I have to apologise to you for being a sexist male chauvinist pig."

Liv raised an eyebrow.

"Because you wanted to be on top?"

"No. Because when you put your resume in to Stark Industries I made a series of judgements about you based on your appearance and that you're a woman and I didn't take you seriously, as a scholar, a scientist, or a mask. But that was before I became a feminist."

"When did you become a feminist?"

"At the end of last year when I dated Gloria Steinem."

Liv laughed.

"I accept your apology. Now, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to come and work for me after you finish your post-graduate work. No, let me rephrase that. I want you to come and work with me after you finish your post-graduate work."

"I'll keep that in mind. I have had other offers."

"Are you turning me down?"

"Not really."

"Nobody ever turns me down! I think I like it. You're a genius, you're a superhero, you fuck like a porn star and you're a challenge."

Liv laughed.

"You mean you were impressed by that quickie in the car? What's the matter with these high class chicken-legged women you go around with, man? Do they just lie there and take it? Fucking is one of my superhero skills, baby. I take it very seriously and I practise all the time."

"So, you're telling me that you have not yet begun to fuck?"

"You'll know when I do. You'll be begging me for mercy."

"Me? Oh no, my dear. I'm not one of your callow young groupies, Napalm. I'm Tony Stark. I need not explain myself any further."

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

"Because I am the God of Fuck."

Iron Man was deadly serious.

So was the Harlequin.

"Then, shall we let the contest begin?"

"Yeah. Time to find out who's the champ, and who's the chump. We'll start in the office, and make out way around the suite. Howzat sound to you?"

"Promising."

Liv took off her underwear and Tony took off his bathrobe.

"Why the office, Napalm? Could it be because you know I've been wanting to have you over the desk all day?" Tony asked.

"Something like that."

Liv got up on the desk.

"Napalm, did I ever tell you about this fantasy I have about having raunchy, dirty, porno movie sex with some red-hot ultravixen on top of the Avengers meeting table? You wouldn't happen to have a Priority One Security Clearance, would you?"

"I work with Dr. Manhattan. I'm a Justice League trainee. Of course I do. And that sounds like fun to me."

"Napalm, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Me too."

**III: Pepper**

Pepper Potts arrived at the hotel suite reserved for her at nine, sharp.

She unpacked and arranged her belongings and set up in the suite's office, then went to have breakfast.

Around noon, she collected her employer's suitcases and went to his suite to awaken him and unpack.

The manager had given her an extra key.

Of course, she went through the formality of knocking on the door, but she wasn't surprised when there was no answer.

Carefully, she entered the suite.

"Mr. Stark?"

There was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey on its side on the coffee table in the main part of the suite, and the pillows had been thrown off of the couch.

She threw the bottle in the wastepaper basket in the office, which had six empty beer cans in it.

Pepper picked up the couch pillows by the very end and put them back on the couch.

She proceeded to the office, where the desk was strewn with papers, and two chairs on the other side.

More beer cans and another bottle in the trash.

There was a large piece of paper taped to the wall, with a chart on it that was lettered in both Tony's scrawl and frantic but neat block lettering.

Liv Napier's work.

Pepper straightened up the desk, and proceeded to the door of the bedroom, which she knocked loudly upon.

She had already decided to humour them and their Mad Mex theory.

It would be easier to arrange them both safely home to New York before the deadline, that way.

"Mr. Stark?" she called.

No answer.

Squaring her shoulders and prepared for anything, she opened the door to the bedroom.

The place looked like a bomb hit it.

Pillows everywhere, blankets on the floor, sheets half on the bed and half on the floor, mattress crooked, end-table overturned, more beer cans and another empty bottle, lamp broken.

Clearly, an epic battle had taken place here.

But where were the combatants?

And who had won?

A blowing curtain led Pepper to the open sliding door to the balcony.

There was a woman in what appeared to be GI-issue underwear, with hair that was much longer and a slightly darker shade of red than hers, leaning over the balcony's railing.

She was a little shorter than Pepper, but had a stockier, curvier build, and was smoking a cigarette.

"Ms. Napier, I presume?"

The woman turned around.

She looked younger than Pepper thought she would, but she had a tough streetwise quality that belied her years and youthful appearance.

She also looked tired.

Considering the appearance, condition and fragrance of the suite, that was understandable.

"Liv."

Pepper looked around the corner.

There was a swing with a large cushion on it rocking gently in the breeze, and lying across that cushion, a quiet bluish-white glow emanating from his chest beneath one of the missing sheets from the bedroom, was her employer.

He was fast asleep.

"I cleaned up the office and the living room. I ain't got to the bedroom, yet. I was gonna make the bed an' try to move 'im, but the most I can lift cold and move is about one-fifty and I think Tony goes about two-fifteen, tw0-twenty. I could try it, but not with my leg the way it is. "

"Who won?" Pepper asked.

"It was a draw. I woke up half in and half out of the room. At least Tony made it to the swing." Liv answered

"I'll help you make the bed and we can move him."

"You don't want to touch those sheets."

"I've been working for him for years. I'm used to getting my hands dirty."

Pepper didn't speak to Liv as they made the bed, or as they carried a sleeping Tony to it, she just watched her.

Before Mr. Stark was Iron Man, he spent all of the time that he wasn't working for Stark Industries or on one of his own projects in a cheerful alcoholic twilight, passing smoothly from drink to drink, party to party and woman to woman with his customary charming but mad élan, and it was up to Pepper to screen said women, to make sure that they were brainless and harmless enough to mean him no harm.

Those who were gold diggers, or starfuckers, or land-shark reporters, or had other various disturbing issues and ulterior motives she weeded out, efficiently and quickly.

Since Mr. Stark had become Iron Man…

Well, he was working more of the time, he had developed a social conscience and he had even recently become a member of NOW.

Pepper knew that as a scientist, a historian, a superhero and a card-carrying Brooklyn street tough, not to mention an heiress to two formidable trust funds and a corporate empire that Liv Napier didn't fall into any of the above categories, but considering that she also had a reputation as an unpredictable alcoholic with a quick temper and a penchant for fighting who also occasionally subject to violent outbreaks of suicidal alcoholism and towering ultraviolent rage that sometimes lasted for several days, Pepper was careful to watch and observe the Harlequin to make sure she was in possession of all her faculties.

After the bed was made and Tony was put in it, Pepper observed that Liv cast a mechanic's eye on the radiating chest plate as they pulled the blankets over him.

She looked around, and grabbed a pair of Levi's from the floor, and pulled them on.

"Is there someplace around here I can get a decent bagel with cream cheese and a whole lot of strong black coffee? I had a real heavy night. My head is pounding and my legs feel like somebody pulled the bones out of them."

"I know just the place. We can talk. I'll have the front desk get us a taxi."

"Is it close? They sent me up a cane, I can make it."

"It's close. But if you need the cane, we'd better get a ride."

***

At a nearby deli, Pepper Potts asked Liv Napier the 64 million dollar question.

"Liv, before you met up with Mr. Stark in the jail, how well did you know him?"

"Not much. We both eat at Grossmann's. He knew me well enough to yell "Napalm" with everbody else when I came in. Every time I walked past him he looked at my tits and my ass, and pretended he wasn't. I didn't mind, but I never pushed it with him. I know the kinds of cats who go for me and they ain't cats like Tony Stark. I knew he was Iron Man, he knew I was the Harlequin, sometimes we'd say good morning and good afternoon and good night. I think we had two or three conversations about nothing in particular when we were the only people in the place, and I knew he didn't hire me to work for him because he thought I was just a dumb broad who spent her life pounding the shit out of half the low-lives in New York City and screwing the other half. Which is my cover, so I didn't mind. Too much."

"In that case, what made you take the time to figure out how to save Mr. Stark's life, risk being shot by prison guards to steal the materials, and give up half of the miniscule amount of food and water you had smuggled into the cell with you to nurse him back to health?"

"We're both masks. Even if I hadn't taken an oath when the Justice League made me a trainee that I would risk my own life to save the life of one of my brothers and sisters, I would have done the same thing. We masks are alone in the world and we've got ta take care of each other." Liv said.

"And that's why you're going to work with Mr. Stark to find out who tried to kill him?"

"Well, he tried to kill me, too. But, yeah. The guy might be after all of us. Hell, an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. Somebody has to catch him, sure. But somebody has to kill him. I got lots of bad guy blood on my hands. I don't mind a little more. It's what I do."

"Honor, loyalty, honesty and a sense of duty. Not what most people expect of you."

Liv shrugged.

"I'm a drunk, and a killer and a shanty-Irish whore. Don't argue with me, please, you've only just met me, you don't know me the way I know me, and I'm telling you, I am what I am, and I ain't ashamed of it or bothered by it. I do the dirty jobs that no other mask will touch for the forgotten people that no other mask will help. I ain't good, I ain't decent, and I sure as hell ain't innocent an' clean. Honour, loyalty, honesty and a sense of duty are all I got seperatin' me from the people I'm fighting. If I lose them, I'm lost, too." She said.

Pepper's heart went out to the young woman who sat across the table from her.

If she wasn't good and decent, she wouldn't care about being lost.

But Pepper still had Mr. Stark to think about.

"I'm glad you're such an honest woman. That means I don't have to mince my words. I hear you're quite a man-eater. I know you think it's none of my business, but it's my job to look after him, and, I just need to know what your personal motives are."

When Liv Napier smiled, she looked a little bit more like her father than Pepper Potts was comfortable with.

"I like Tony. I made myself a promise, a coupla years back, when I almost got raped and murdered in a flophouse by the Brooklyn Slasher that I was only going to screw two kinds of guys from then on in. The occasional harmless groupie for splash and dash, and guys I liked that I could trust. The first list is long, the second list is too goddamn short. I like Tony. I think I can trust him. And he is one goddamn good-looking son-of-a-bitch. And I don't mean good-looking in a way. I mean good-looking like a fucking movie star. Tony's the classiest, best-lookin' guy who ever showed any interest in a little Mick mutt from Brooklyn like me. I'd have to be a lez or dead to turn down my only chance at that kinda action."

"Like a cross between Errol Flynn and Sean Connery?"

"Yeah. And he's about three and a half inches shy of Johnny Holmes, and the man sure knows his way around a mattress. I'm gonna go out and buy some knee pads and elbow pads and a crash helmet before the evening rolls around."

Pepper couldn't help it, and even though she was blushing, she started to laugh.

"I mean it. When I get back to New York, I'm firing my chiropractor. My leg's almost perfectly fine, now. Next time I throw my back out, or kink my leg up, or anything, I'm calling Tony."

Liv grinned, and made an obscene and unmistakable hand signal with her clenched fist and her forearm.

Pepper laughed even harder.

She was beginning to like Liv Napier, in spite of herself.

"We'd better get back to the hotel. I have a feeling Dracula is going to be arising from his crypt." Liv said

"You may not like Mr. Stark as well after you've seen him first thing in the afternoon. Go ahead, stay here and finish your breakfast. You've been doing my job for me long enough."

***

When Pepper returned to the suite, Mr. Stark was still asleep, but by the time she had unpacked his suitcases and hung up his clothes in the closet and put them in the drawers and then proceeded into the living room to call room service for breakfast, she heard the customary stumbling, groaning and cursing from the bedroom, followed by Mr. Stark's customary appearance in his undershorts as he put on whatever robe was handy.

She had coffee ready.

"Good morning, Pepper." He muttered.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark."

"Is it that late?"

"It's two."

"I feel lucky to be awake at all. Where's my little textbook on nymphomania?"

"Miss Napier is having coffee and bagels at the deli three blocks away."

"Did you get the files on her I asked you for?"

"Yes. And I read them."

"Before you start, Pepper, I know she drinks, I know she's crazy, I know she's killed almost as many men as she's gone to bed with and I know about the Troubles."

"Did you know that Bruce Wayne has approached the Comedian several times about taking her on as an apprentice, because he and the Justice League feel like Eddie Blake is the only man in New York City who could possibly get her to get her act together?"

"Everybody knows that. And Eddie keeps refusing."

"Kept refusing, Mr. Stark. About a month and a half ago, on a routine manoeuvre with Rorschach and the Nite Owl to quell a disturbance, the Watchmen came upon a full scale and violent gang riot in the warehouse district. Apparently, the Comedian misjudged the odds against him, and leapt out of the Nite Owl's airship into the crowd of rioting, heavily armed murderers, and was immediately overtaken."

That got his attention.

"What happened?"

"According to the Nite Owl, he was sure that even though the Comedian would have taken thirty or forty of the rioters with them, he almost certainly would have been killed. As would anyone who went to his aid. That was why he and Rorschach decided not to leave the airship, and to try and help from above. Now, the Harlequin often goes on missions with Nite Owl and his partner, and she was on this mission at the behest of the Comedian. Less than thirty seconds after they watched the crowd swallow Eddie Blake alive, Liv Napier, who has no paratrooper training, executed a fifty foot jump to the ground below, and even though she severely injured her leg when she landed, she fought her way over to the Comedian, and tossed him an extra weapon. The rioters gave her a wide berth after she scalped one of them with a Buck knife, and she shot the man the Comedian was engaging with his fists point-blank in the face from less than six inches away. The Harlequin tossed the Comedian one of her guns, put her back against his, and they fought on. That gave Nite Owl enough time to position his ship to rescue both of them. The Harlequin saved the Comedian's life, and they single-handedly dispelled the riot. After that, the Comedian agreed to take the Harlequin on as an apprentice. They worked together for a few weeks, in which time her leg did not heal and the extent of her drinking problem hindered her training, so he and the JLA arranged this trip for the Harlequin to convalesce from her leg injury, after which she was supposed to return to New York to begin her apprenticeship in earnest."

Tony looked shocked.

"What made her do a thing like that for a man like Eddie Blake? Come to think of it, what made him want to take on an apprentice all of the sudden?" he asked.

Pepper rolled her eyes.

Sometimes, for a genius, Tony was incredibly thick.

"Oh, I don't know, Tony. Why do men and women usually do crazy, impulsive things for each other?"

He grimaced.

"That's not funny, Pepper. It's creepy. It's sick. It's wrong. It's…"

"Love? Well, she only met with him on one previous occasion, in which they went out for the evening in Brooklyn and he stopped a man from hitting her in the back of the head with a pool cue by breaking the man's jaw with the pool cue, snapping it in half and nearly strangling him with it."

"God in Heaven, Pepper! I'd call that love at first sight."

"Precisely what I was thinking. It may be creepy and sick, and wrong, but everyone has a heart, Tony. Even if it is black as midnight in a coal mine."

She waited to see if the realisation would dawn on him.

"Wait a minute. You're telling me that I have been sleeping with a woman that the Comedian most likely has a serious non-professional interest in? A woman who is his shiny new apprentice, hand-picked by him as the most likely mask on which he can impart everything he knows? And I've also been attempting to woo her away from Dr. Manhattan, whom he also works with, and induce her to come and work for me, and he could possibly misconstrue that as me trying to suborn his apprentice?"

"Mr. Stark, let's dispense with the ten-dollar words. In three and a half days, Bruce Wayne is going to tell Eddie Blake that you made off with the woman he's falling in love with _and_ that you are trying to steal his apprentice _and_ that you've been screwing her six ways from Sunday _and_ plying her with booze, even though she's an alcoholic who was at a S.H.I.E.L.D rehab trying to dry out as well as recovering from a nasty leg injury that she received while saving his life."

"What was I saying when I was in jail. Oh yes. Mother of Mercy! Is this the end of little Rico?" Tony replied

Pepper sighed.

"You go ahead and make jokes, Mr. Stark. But we are all going back to New York, tomorrow. Because if the Comedian comes out here to find her and get you, you might just be going back to New York under the plane. With the suitcases. In a pine box."

**IV: Liv**

Back at the deli, Liv Napier was on the pay-phone, outside, calling New York.

The last time she'd called Eddie was before she went over the wall, after all.

"What?"

"Hiya, Eddie."

"Oh, it's you, huh, kid? Finally! What, they ain't got phones in that S.H.I.E.L.D joint?"

"Uhhh, I kinda went over the wall. And then I lit out to TJ. I mean it was almost _Cinco de Mayo._ I was gonna come back after the holiday, but, dig this crazy shit, some cocksucker slipped me a mickey in a goddamn bar and I woke up in fuckin' jail. With Tony Stark. He was half-dead. They drugged him and tried to rip his batteries out of his heart. So I helped him fix his mechanics, and now I gotta figure out who the fuck was tryin' to off us and why. I'm in San Diego now, so I'm pretty close to the rehab joint, so I guess I'll go back once I've iced this Mex or Mexes who laid this trip on us. Then I'll be back to the city to start workin' with youse."

"What? WHAT? You did WHAT? Jesus fuckin' Christ! I fuckin' told Fury you would do that! I said, put her in a different joint. Put her in the joint in London! You puttin' the kid that close to TJ especially with Christmas for alkies comin up is like stickin a guy who just got outa prison next door to a fuckin' whorehouse! And what the fuck is all this shit about Shellhead?"

"I toleja, Eddie somebody's tryin ta-"

"Bullshit! You two lushes were in the same paradise for stew bums at the same time, and ya just ended up in the drunk tank on different days! Shellhead prob'ly fucked up his works passin' out on the street like a fuckin' drunken sailor on shore leave! Where the fuck are you again?"

"San Diego."

"Good! You an' where the fuck you're supposed ta be are close by. Stay there! Go back to the hotel you're stayin in an' put your goddamn leg up. And not around Shellhead's ass! Jesus, what a piece of work! I'll bet he's givin you booze and fuckin' you, when you're too goddamn drunk ta know which end is up. Of course, so is he."

"Who said I was fuckin' him?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, kid."

"But Eddie, I can get proof of what I'm sayin' about somebody tryin ta kill--"

"Proof? Ya want proof? I'll getcha goddamn proof. Get off that fuckin' leg, go back to that fuckin' hotel and stay there. You'll be hearin' from me real soon."

"Okay. G'bye, Eddie."

"Yeah, yeah. You're some kinda trouble, kid. I can see from now on in, I'm gonna be watchin' you like a fuckin' hawk!"

The line went dead.

Liv hung up and called the hotel to send a car for her, then sat on the curb, smoking, to wait for it.

She knew she'd never make it back on foot; her leg was feeling better at the hospital, but now, it was really starting to hurt like Hell again.

At least Eddie was on their side.

Maybe somebody had tried to kill them, after all.

**III: Eddie**

"…so then I told him, Gordon, you have got to be out of your goddamn mind. These are America's masked heroes we're talking about, I don't think whether or not a few of the younger ones smoke the occasional reefer is going to be a grave matter of our national fucking security."

Nick Fury rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on his desk.

"He is out of his goddamn mind. Dick. Eddie thinks he's out of his goddamn mind. And if Eddie thinks a guy is too much, he's really too much. Liddy's only slightly to the left of Hitler."

"Well, he's a good man for his job, Nick."

President Nixon and the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. were both surprised when Nick Fury's secretary interrupted their conversation.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Director, but Colonel Blake is on the line and he insists on talking to you rght now. I told him you were on the line with Mr. President, but he…"

"That's alright, miss. Put him on." Nixon assured her.

"What took to goddamn long? Jesus!"

"Eddie! You sound happy, as usual."

"I got so much to be happy about, Dick. Nicky-boy here didn't listen to me and my apprentice went over the wall."

"At the MORC? Unbelievable."

"Well, they don't call her Napalm for nothin'."

"You found her, Eddie? How?" Nick Fury asked.

"She checked in with me. Anyways, Dick, you think Mr. Director can call youse back in a few minutes? We gotta get hold of this kid. She's already blown up a jail in TJ, Christ only knows what she's gonna do, next."

"I have every confidence in you, Eddie, that you'll straighten her out. Sometimes all a young person needs is a little guidance. That is, a little guidance from somebody who's not going to put up with their bullshit. I'll talk to you both later."

President Nixon hung up.

"Okay, Eddie, what's so goddamn important about Napalm that I had to get off the phone with the President of the United States?"

"Nick, you know as well as I do that Dick don't know shit an' he never did an' he never will, and he ain't never had anything important to say. Whaddya mean, what's so important? You want her to lay waste to half of Mexico? And what kinda show are you fuckin' runnin'? I send my apprentice for a little R&R and ta dry at your big-time Superhero General in California, and she ends up in jail in TJ! In the drunk tank! I toleja ta send her someplace in the middle of nowhere! Like fuckin' Antarctica! I assume you heard that fuckin' story her and that drunken rich fuck Shellhead have been tellin' themselves in between swigs of booze."

"I heard it. I'm not wasting manpower on it, Eddie. It's bullshit. Two drunks went to Mecca for boozers and ended up in the drunk tank, and Tony fell on his chest plate. The End. Liv's welcome back if she's had her fun and she wants to complete the program. That kid shows a lot of promise, Eddie. You made a good choice. No one's escaped from the California Facility since Lucky Jim back in '54."

"I know she does. An' I don't wanna see her piss it away. So, now the kid thinks she's fuckin' Sherlock Holmes and she's gonna solve the case. Yeah, right. I want that kid back in the city tomorra, and if she ain't, I'm comin' out there, and if I gotta come out there, I'm goin down to TJ and killin' every Mex beaner motherfucker in that fuckin' joint an' you can clean the fuck up after me! Fuck this shit!"

Nick Fury suppressed a laugh.

"You know, Eddie, that's not a bad idea. It would save us having to pay off the locals. Not to mention the shitstorm about them blowing the roof off a jail and fleeing from the Mexican authorities. Speaking of your good buddy, you think you could stop by the X-Mansion and pick up Logan along the way, and hit the jail, too?"

"That's the way me an' him used to do it, during the Big One."

"Yeah, but those were Nazis."

"Like I give a fuck, Nick! You wanna plan? I gotta plan. I'm not mollycoddlin' that kid. She's gotta know she got herself into this shit. I blow the door of this Mex joint off, break somebody's jaw, knock a few beaners around. Logan slices a few of 'em up, just bad enough to scare 'em. We ask 'em if anybody knows about a couple of stupid drunk gringos who came around a few days back and throw five bucks American on the bar. Those Mex cocksuckers will sing like a buncha fuckin' canaries. While we're down there, we stop by that jail, throw a few grand around, promise Uncle Sam will fix their piecea shit dump for 'em, and give 'em the idea they take the offer or we splatter their spic asses all over the fuckin' walls. Done. Logan goes home, I go to San Diego. That broad who takes care of Shellhead gives him another bottle of Jack Daniels with a fuckin' rubber nipple on the end and his spade buddy flies him back to New York. I get my apprentice and she gets to go on the Edward Morgan Blake treatment program for fuckin' pathetic drunks and gutter junkies. I got my sister clean in 1939 and she hasn't touched junk since an' she drinks like a normal person. That is after I dump her back at your joint to finish her stint. An' I'll be stayin' local ta make sure she don't go noplace."

Nick Fury thought about it, seriously.

"You know what, Eddie? That's what I call a good plan. Ties up all the loose ends, nice and neat and save me a lot of time, energy and manpower. And I can call the President back and tell him not to worry, that Eddie's taking care of everything. I wish I could give you a promotion, but you're already Level 10. Shit, if you were any higher up, you'd be me. Okay, I'll take care of contacting Wolverine. Transportation will be awaiting you at the usual place on the docks at twenty-hundred hours, New York time."

"I'll be there with fuckin' bells on."

"One more thing, Colonel Blake. Uncle Sam and Major General Rogers both need Iron Man in one piece."

"Hey, fuck that asshole Stark! Without that suit on he's just a cripple and a drunk. He ain't man enough for me to slap around. Unless the kid's hurt. I ain't gonna kill him, but I ain't gonna kiss him an' say thanks, either, Nick. I gotta get ready. I'm goin."

The Comedian hung up, and went to put his costume on.

Time to go to work.


	4. Busted

_**Disclaimer: I make no money from doing this, and the only characters I own are Liv Napier and Mel Reinhardt, cos I invented them!**_

_(Author's Note: Some of you may have noticed that Iron Man, herein, is a lot more like Ultimate Iron Man than regular Marvel continuity Iron Man, and that is probably because the similarity is entirely intentional, on my part. In this, and all my stories, he's a combination of the best parts of both._)

**Chapter Four: Busted**

**S.H.I.E.L.D. Regional Motorpool, Masked Operative Rehabilitation (MORC) Complex, near San Diego, California, 1971**

**I: Logan**

Working with Eddie wasn't like working, it was like taking a vacation.

It wasn't Charlie's high ideals for heroes that Logan needed the vacation from. Sure, it was more discipline than he was used to; but, at least as far as he could remember, Logan had always made an effort to keep the beast in him on a real short leash, when letting him out wasn't absolutely necessary.

Logan was an honourable man, bound by the bushido code, a man who commanded loyalty and respect for himself and felt same for the masks he lived and worked with, especially Charlie.

Indeed, if Charlie wasn't in a wheelchair and he could go and lead missions himself, Logan wouldn't need a vacation.

But he had Cyke to deal with. And, as Mel pointed out, Scott wasn't a bad guy, but he was a prude, an obsessive, and pretty much Mr. Square John Plastic Fantastic Dry White Toast.

Which could get kind of annoying at lunchtime and when you were trying to figure out what you wanted on TV in the Faculty Lounge, but, in the end, despite the fast he was prissy, prudish, and uptight, Cyke was a pretty good guy. There wasn't anything wrong with him that a long vacation, a half of a bottle of tequila spiked with two or three hits of acid and a really good blowjob wouldn't cure. After all, the poor bastard had a lot of responsibility on him for a young man, and he didn't sleep much, so they'd had a lot of late nights at the X-Mansion kitchen table, over a few beers, or even a pot of tea.

Logan had made his helpful suggestion as to the cure for Scott's ills, and Cyke had been predicibly horrified. He explained that he had no time for a vacation, didn't drink hard liquor, that he had nothing to do with drugs, and furthermore that he would never expect, ask, or allow a woman to perform such a degrading act upon him.

Which went a long ways towards explaining why Jeannie didn't sleep much, either, but that was neither here nor there.

As a guy he had to live with, Cyke wasn't so bad; they were actually kind of buddies.

It was in his capacity as a leader that Cyke could rub Logan the wrong way. When you were on a mission or in the heat of battle and you were getting orders from this guy, it kind of made you want to pop a claw and let a little of the hot air and pomp and circumstance out of him.

The man seriously needed to loosen up.

Now, when you were with Eddie, you didn't have to worry about any of that.

You did have to worry about his temper, though.

"I am not drivin' anywhere in one of these piece of shit Frog cars! Or one of those Jap cars, neither! You get me a goddamn American car, fucko, before I get really mad! And don't gimme no compact piecea shit with an engine the size of a fuckin' postage stamp, neither!"

Although, he did almost felt sorry for the kid behind the desk; he was probably some big upper level S.H.I.E.L.D agent's little brother or kid, who slid into a nice cushy job at the motor pool.

That was until he tried to stick the Comedian with a Renault.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's all we-"

Eddie looked like he was about ready to grab the kid, haul him across the desk and start blowing cigar smoke in his face while he yelled at him.

A lot of people found that extremely frightening to the point where they would piss their pants, so Logan decided to intervene.

"Kid, you got eyes? You know who I am?"

"The Wolverine, sir."

"You know who he is?"

"The Comedian, sir."

"Then quit fuckin' around and get us a decent car before my old army buddy, here, gets really mad and starts dismantling this place."

The kid started looking through a stack of folders on the desk.

"We do have a couple of station wagons…"

The kid was clearly too stupid for his own good.

Logan hoped that he either had a lot of guts or an empty bladder.

"That's it! Fuck this!"

Eddie grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt, hauled him over the desk and started blowing cigar smoke in his face while he yelled at him.

"You get your happy ass into the back and get me about five grand from the fuckin' safe!"

"But I can't do that!" the kid protested.

Logan knew the next step was for Eddie to start slapping the kid around, so he decided it was time for a little Bad Cop, Worse Cop.

"Kid, we're Level 10 agents. If we tell you to go rent a chicken suit and stand outside and wave your dick at passing cars, you'd better do it. Now, are you gonna get the money, or do I have to get mad?"

_Snikt!_

They walked out with ten grand in a brown envelope.

"You ever buy a car in your costume, before, Jimmy?" Eddie asked.

"Can't say I have, Eddie. Do ya get a better deal?"

"Fuck yeah, ya do!"

**California, close to the Mexican border**

Over the course of thirty years and a war or three, Logan had been in tanks, jeeps, trucks, and just about any other conveyance with wheels with Eddie driving, so even though he was burying the needle on the speedometer of the silver and black Plymouth Roadrunner he'd just bought, Logan wasn't worried.

"The kid has one of these jobs. Hers moves a little smoother, but that's because she did some work on it. I'll get her ta work on this one. You got a car, Jimmy?"

"Not right now."

"Well, I got two of 'em. Kid's got ten or some fucking crazy number like that. You can have this one. And the rest of the dough. I know they don't pay shit on that X-Men job, and I'll bet Nick has ya doin this job for Mom an' Apple Pie. After I get the kid to work on it, this fuckin' car will make what it's doin' now look like crawlin."

"She does good work. But I guess you know all about that, huh, Eddie?"

"Not me, pal. Kid's bad news. I can't tell if she wants to fuck me or kill me, an' the way she is, I was half-convinced she was a dyke. But I guess you an' her don't play cards all night long, every Wednesday."

Logan looked at him in disbelief, and then started to laugh.

"Jesus, Eddie, do ya think all we did for four months was drink, fight and read books to each other? A guy like me meets some pretty crazy broads, but there's no hellfire like the hellfire in Napalm. Don't let the boxers and undershirt fool ya. The first night she met me, she was all over me. I mean, Napalm wears me out. Me. Ya never saw so much fucking. That girl's got an itch on her that don't stay scratched for long. I don't think she ever met a man besides me who ever managed to put the fire out long enough for her to sleep all through the night. I mean, she was all over me, all the time, every day, except those five or six at the end of the month. If that's all that's botherin' you, forget it. But, you're not that stupid, Eddie. You know I guess that's not all that's botherin' you."

"You know it as well as I do, that kid is fucked up. Bad."

"I tried, Eddie. I helped her. But I can't save her. That's your department. You're the one, right?"

"Yeah, well, I can't save her with my dick, can I? Not that I wouldn't like to try, but there's more to it than that. She's my goddamn apprentice. Kid's gotta respect me. Listen to me. All that shit she hates to do. If I'm just another Joe Blow stickin' my cock in her, she's gonna treat me just like she treats every other asshole she's ever fucked. Except you. Like shit. Like you say, kid's got an itch on her that don't stay scratched."

"Uh-huh. Eddie, you wanna roll that window down all the way? Because it smells like bullshit in here. That itch ain't all between her legs. Some of it's in her head. I'm also the only man whoever treated her decently. With a little kindness. Until she met you."

"Yeah, well, you only got Wednesdays to worry about, Jimmy. Kid's my responsibility. The Bat threw his arms up in the air, he can't do shit with her. Crazy Jack, even he can't do shit with her. You just admitted you can't do shit with her. But me, I'm makin' headway. I happen to give a rat's ass what happens to her. Not that you and the Bat and her father don't, but I'll tellya who don't. That fuckin' asshole Stark. Know-it-all trust fund drunken motherfucker! He can't do shit with himself, let alone anybody else. Goddamn crazy kid. Busts outa a hospital that's more impregnable than fuckin' Alcatraz on a bum leg to go have one more toot in TJ. And runs into the only sunnuvabitch who's as big a lush as she is. He better be lookin' after her, for his fuckin' sake. If her leg's worse, if she's all fucked up, I'm gonna beat that punk like I own him."

"You know, Eddie, if I didn't know better, I'd say you sounded an awful lot like a guy who's pissed off because somebody's musclin' in on his action with his girl."

"You're goddamn right I am! Kid's the kinda broad a guy like me could get used to. Once I figure whether or not kill me comes along with kiss me, I got plans for her. You don't have to worry about that. If she hauls off an' shoots ya in the face or the chest a coupla times, or runs youse over with her car, or hacks into youse with that machete of hers, you'll get better. A fuckin' nuke didn't kill you. Me, not so much."

Eddie had a point.

"You got a point there, Eddie. I got the beast on a short leash, maybe you got the beast on a longer leash than I do, but Napalm? She lets the sunnuvabitch run wild every day, and when she has her Troubles, it's like she feeds it raw meat."

"You got that right. And Good Old Eddie hadta be the first one to put a leash around her. A leash. Leash, my ass. It's more like a big fuckin' chain I gotta beat her with to keep her off my throat. You relax your grip, and animal like that can killya anytime."

"Sorta like you, when you was her age?"

"Yeah. Lucky me, huh?"

Logan hadn't really thought about it before, but now that he did, in the course of a year, now, Liv had threatened to cut his head off with an adamantium machete, given him two black eyes, broken his nose, not to mention that double kidney punch that left him pissing blood for a whole day.

She just seemed to know what places to hit him where it would really, really, really hurt.

Not to mention in due course of her Troubles, she had shot him in the face at point-blank range while in an alcoholic twilight. Also, he'd been in a high-speed car accident with her on any icy road in Westchester where she gave him an all-expense paid trip through the windshield and over an embankment one drunken night.

She was bluffing about the machete. And didn't even remember shooting him. At the time, when she shot him, she didn't know who he was. And it was a good thing he was in the wreck, because when he came to he was healed by the time he got up the embankment, and pulled her, unconscious, out of the wreckage of the car with a concussion and some minor bruises and cuts about two minutes before the car caught on fire.

"Yeah, you got a point, there, Eddie. When she's not having the Troubles, you're alright. Sure, if she's drunk enough, and you say "shoehorn" the wrong way, maybe you get a black eye or a bloody nose. But when she's havin' the Troubles, you're fucked. That car accident would have killed anybody but me, and even if she was too drunk to know it was me she shot in the face, if it wasn't for my healing powers, I would have been dead. And like you say, I only have to worry about Wednesday."

"That's why I gotta get the kid back into rehab. Youse saw the shape she was in before; kid couldn't walk through those doors she busted out of a month later. They didn't know if she was gonna make it, or not. An' you know I had a bout with the Troubles, right?"

"How bad was it?"

"How fuckin' bad do you think it was? You saw her lyin' there in that bed at Hank's infirmary, dincha? It was one gorgeous week of the most pitifully disgusting shit I ever seen anybody do, along with three bar fights and a car wreck. Then, at the end of it, she goes off, alone, on some crazy suicide job, and staggers into my place at two in the morning with a fuckin' severed head in a duffel bag, draggin' her bad leg and bleedin' all over the place, all beat to fuck with her head nearly cracked open. She pulls out the fuckin' head, drippin' all over the place, an' I yelled at her about it and she picks up a glass ashtray and smacks me in the head with it. Lucky for me she was drunk and her aim was off an she only grazed me, because, otherwise, I'd be dead. If that kid don't get sober, she'll be dead."

"Whose head was it?"

"Kid crashed a Friends of Humanity meetin'. She hates those cocksuckers, an, well, you can understand why, even if she don't. Anyway, she saved some mutant girl's life, an' killed ten men with a .45 and an adamantium machete. Head belonged to the local head honcho. Motherfucker's the headless honcho, now."

The Comedian and Wolverine had a good laugh over that one.

"Well, I'll tellya what would make it healthier for you. Make it blood between you. Napalm, she's a stand-up broad. Her word means somethin' to her."

"You know how long its' been since I trusted anybody that much?"

"You're trainin' her to be your partner, ain'tcha? She saved your life, didn't she?"

"You gotta point, Logan. So, has that snooty red-haired broad come around, yet?"

"Jeannie? Fuck no! It would be different if I really didn't like Cyke. But I do. I mean I work with him, and we ain't what you call close friends, but we're friends enough, and he's a good guy. And he's, he's like our CO, yunno? So, not only do I feel bad about stealin' his woman, I feel obligated not to not steal his woman. An' then there's Jeannie. Sometimes, the way she fuckin' looks at me, you'd think I was made outa ice cream. And it's usually when I'm dressed in spandex and blood. She gives me that old red-headed hellfire look, not quite as hot as Liv, put plenty fuckin' hot enough. Makes me think Cyke doesn't do his duty all that often. That, and she hates my old lady. The only reason she don't hate Liv is because they went to school together."

"When you say your old lady, you mean that blond doll, the one with the Fritz name that looks like the broad on the beer bottles?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus Christ. How does a mutt like you get a broad like that? And the kid."

"I'm the only man on God's Green Earth that Mel's powers won't kill if he lies down with her. That and we gotta lot in common. We was born in the same town, and we both ride, an all. And Napalm, well, it's blood between us. That and she knows if she fucks up and kills me, I won't die. But it's you she's sold on, Eddie. You're the big, bad sunnuvabitch of a two-tone motherfucker of her dreams. And I don't think she wants to kill ya. Ever since she met ya, that's' all I ever hear about. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. She wants to clean up her act so you don't kick her to the curb, and it ain't all because she wants ta be your partner. I think Napalm's got it bad for you. I mean, sure, when she's bad, she's lethal, but when she's good, she's good as gold and, fuck, who wants to live forever?"

Eddie slowed down as they began to approach the border.

"That's true, Jimmy. But, call me crazy, I'll wait till she gets outa rehab."

"Yeah. If I was you, I would."

**III: Eddie**

Eddie didn't consider himself a racist.

He was a Mick, after all, and a lot of people thought a Mick was lower than a Mex or a nigger, and he didn't give a shit if somebody was a Mex or a nigger or if they were white, it was all the same to him, most people were assholes no matter what they were.

So, he wasn't about to make trouble for these Mexes in their broken down old jail if they weren't going to make trouble for him.

The kid and Shellhead had done quite a number on the place, they had the whole roof covered with a tarp, and the local police captain wasn't too happy about a hole in his roof and a guard in the hospital, but the Captain in charge took the cash and shut his pie hole, especially when Eddie threw in an extra grand for him for his trouble.

The Captain gave them directions to _El Toro Loco_, and told them the place was a real dive; they made arrests there almost every night.

He also warned them to stay the hell away from all the women in the place; the women who weren't whores were all grifters and the whores all had the clap and the syph and God only knew what else.

From the outside, the place looked straight out of a Spaghetti Western.

A real good place to get into some bad trouble.

"You know what, Eddie? I been to this place before. I think it was right after the first war. Maybe 1920, or 21. The place was a shithole, then. I had about two shots of the local mescal and the next thing I knew I was roaming around naked in the street, bleeding from a buncha stab wounds that woulda killed anybody else."

_Snikt!_

"Sounds like the kinda place the kid would go to get sauced. I'll watch my ass."

The locals weren't used to gringo superheroes visiting, and in that Eddie came in with his guns out and Logan had his claws extended; they made quite an impression.

"We don't want any trouble. We just want to talk to the owner." Eddie said, in Spanish.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish." Logan said.

"I learned it from a broad up in Spanish Harlem I usedta know." Eddie explained.

"I speak English, senor. Are you here about the little red devil who broke up my place last week?"

The owner, who had a kind of Pancho Villa look to him, but didn't seem like too much of an underhanded cocksucker, put a couple of Coronas and lime on the bar, and, warily, Logan and Eddie sat down.

Momentarily, they put away their weapons.

"What makes you think we'd be here about this girl, bub?"

"Because, to do what she did, she must have superpowers! You should have seen it. She came limping in, with this mean look on her face, and she sat right there and drank more tequila than a grown man twice her size could handle. I've been running this place a long time, and I know trouble when I see it, and trouble isn't always some big guy with a big mouth."

Logan laughed.

"Then what?" Eddie asked.

"Well, all that booze, it put her in a good mood, and she didn't look so mean. She had such a pretty smile, you could tell that she was really a nice little girl. She told me she came from the hospital and that they wouldn't let her have a drink, so she just came here to have a few drinks and a good time, and then she was going back in the morning. She was drinking with some of the regulars, buying for everybody, having a good time. It wasn't one of us who started the trouble. It was some gringo sailor. Big stupid _pendajo_ who kept trying to get sexy with her. Finally, she had to hit him. And he was here with all his big, stupid _pendajo_ friends. I liked the little red devil. I was going to get out my shotgun, and chase them off, but I didn't need it. What she did to them, you wouldn't believe, senor."

"I work with her, pal. I believe it." Eddie replied.

"Anyway, the whole place got busted up, and somebody called the _federales_. Not me. Your girl, she gave me some money to fix up the damage. I hear they got what the deserve, though, that she called the Iron Man, and he came and broke her out of jail."

"So, nobody put anything in her drink? Nothing like that?" Logan asked.

"No way. I watch her drink for her. I liked her. No offence to your friend, here, about his girl, but I had a good thing going with her, until those gringo sailors and the _federales_ showed up."

Logan took a good look at the Mexican; he wasn't a tall guy but he was big, and rough-looking; he looked like a real tough sunnuvabitch who was somewhere in the neighbourhood of fifty.

Liv's type.

"Well, here's the thing, friend. There was another gringo in here, a couple of days before. He was a little shorter than my friend, and he woulda been well dressed. Kinda looks like a movie star?" Logan asked.

He knew Eddie wasn't about to inquire after Tony's welfare.

The owner shrugged.

"He might have been in here. I don't know."

A young woman who was behind the bar, washing glasses, stopped and turned around.

"I remember him! Don't you remember him, Uncle Alejandro?"

"One rich gringo looks like another."

"Not this one! He did look like a movie star. He was a nice man. But he got so drunk! And see those three witches over there?"

"Yeah." Logan answered.

The girl got him another Corona, and took it to a table, while Eddie continued to talk to the owner about Liv.

"They play up to gringos who are drunk and look like they have money, so they can rob them and leave them in the street. I didn't want him to go with them, but he was so drunk! I didn't want my uncle to know, but I went into the back with your friend, and I found out who he was. Everybody knows that Tony Stark wears a battery in his chest to keep his heart from stopping. It's been in all the magazines. I was going to let him stay in my room, but he wandered away. Out into the street. He fell down, outside and the light in the battery, it got dim. I ran to call for the ambulance, but when I got back, he was gone. I think the_ federales_ took him, and they didn't know about his battery! Is he alright? I got his watch, and his wallet, and his jewelry back from those witches. I even made them give me back his money."

"He's alright. If you give it to me, I'll make sure he gets it back."

Logan and Eddie had a few more beers, and paid for their drinks, and then split.

"Looks like I wasted your time, Logan." Eddie said, in the car.

"Well, ya never know. It coulda been somethin' big. I didn't think it was gonna be, though. What the fuck, I needed a little change of scenery."

"It was exactly what the fuck I thought! You heard what the Mex said. Kid was goin' back to the MORC. She prob'ly just busted out to prove she could do it, have a little fun on _Cinco de Mayo_, maybe get laid, then go back an' finish her last two weeks. But, then she gets mixed the fuck up with Shellhead. Well, if he wants ta go down the drain, let him, but he ain't taking my partner with him. I'll take youse back to the MORC an' you can take this car, if ya want an' go back to New York, or sell it an' go back ta New York, or try to get some money outa Nick an' go back to New York. I'm worry I wasted your time, Jimmy. Me, I gotta go get my girl away from that fuckin' drunk before he undoes alla good I been tryna do. Sunnuvabitch."

A very black look passed over Eddie's features, and the way he said "my girl" made Logan decide not to ask if he could come along.

He decided to drive the Roadrunner back to New York, he wanted to be as far as possible away from the coming explosion.

**V: Pepper**

Around 11:00 PM, Liv Napier was watching a re-run of Star Trek in bed with Tony Stark.

They had been working on the _El Toro Loco_ case all day, and after a few hours of venery, they were taking a TV break.

Pepper could hear them talking through the door.

"You know, Napalm, I think I'm kind of a combination of Kirk and Spock."

"I can see that."

Meanwhile, outside in the living room of the suite, she was arranging the papers and folders that her employer had been rifling through all day.

The knock on the front door was so heavy and insistent that she jumped, and almost dropped the files in her hands.

"Just a minute!" she called and put the files on the table.

She looked through the peephole, and saw the Comedian in full costume, standing outside the door.

All six foot four and two-forty and two .45 caliber pistols of him, with a shotgun slung across his back and a bandolier of bullets across his chest like Pancho Villa, smoking a rather illegal Cuban cigar.

He didn't look too terribly happy.

Someone had tipped him off.

But who?

Liv.

She must have called him from the deli.

Just checking in with the boss to tell him she was okay.

Just calling to doom them all to the wrath of one of the most brutal men in America.

Make that one of the most brutal men in the world.

Ever.

Pepper had never thought faster in her whole life.

"Just a minute, Mr. Blake, sir! It's Mr. Stark's executive secretary, Ms. Potts. I was taking a nap on the couch and I'm not dressed! I believe he and Ms. Napier are working. I'll go check on them, immediately." she called.

"Fine. But I ain't got all day, doll." came the terse reply.

Pepper sprinted to the bedroom and opened the door, and was never so happy in her life as to see that Tony and Liv were just watching TV.

"Liv, your, ah, your boss, er, Mr. Blake is here."

Tony went a whiter shade of pale, jumped out of bed like it was on fire and started getting dressed.

"Eddie? What's he doing here?" Liv asked, casually, yawning and stretching lazily.

"Ripping my spine out, slowly, I expect! Or perhaps tearing my heart out and casually crushing it under his bootheels while I die, screaming! We were supposed to have more time, Pepper!" Tony said in a panicky voice as he zipped his pants and threw his shirt on.

"I know. I called him and told him what was goin' on. Eddie said he'd look into it for us. He prob'ly knows something. Why would he wanna kill you?" Liv asked.

Tony started throwing her clothes at her.

"Liv, you don't see the Comedian the way other people do."

"You mean the way criminals do? You're a mask, you got nothing to worry about."

"Normally, I would agree with you, but…there's no time to explain. Get dressed, Napalm, get dressed! You're not a man, you don't understand these things!"

Liv put her tank top and boxers on, and then her Levi's.

"Get your stuff! All your stuff! Is that all your stuff?"

"Most of my stuff is in the car, Tony."

"Good. I'm going to the office. I've been in the office all day."

"Whatever you say, man."

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

"Kid? Hey, kid, it's Eddie. Open this fuckin' door!"

"Oh my God! Mr. Stark!"

"Don't worry Pepper. It's like Liv says. We're not criminals. We have nothing to worry about. Act natural. I'll bet he can smell fear."

Meanwhile, Liv was completely nonchalant.

It was just Eddie, after all.

"Keep yer dick in yer pants, Eddie, I'm comin', I'm comin'! Holy shit! It's not like I can fuckin' run, heah. " Liv bawled.

"She's not afraid of him at all." Tony marvelled.

"Exactly, Mr. Stark." Pepper replied.

Liv answered the door.

"Pepper, considering that I may be about to die, I want to tell you something."

"Yes, Tony?"

"I think your freckles are sexy."

"You're not so bad yourself, sir."

**II: Eddie**

The last time he saw the kid, she was in bad shape.

Real bad shape.

She had to stay at the X-Mansion infirmary for about a week before she could be moved to

the MORC in the X-Jet, and at that, they put her right in bed.

That was where she was last time Eddie saw her, sitting up in a hospital bed, acting brave and cocky when she was half-dead and facing drying out.

But, when she opened the door, it looked like the kid had lost her crutches somewhere along the line, but other than that she seemed just fine.

She was nice and clean and unharmed and there wasn't a mark on her and she was even fairly sober.

Smiling sunnily at him with her hair in two long red pigtails on either side of her head, with her hands jammed into the pockets of her Levi's, scuffing her feet in her old Keds against each other.

She was leaning on a cane.

"Hiya, Eddie. Nice ta see youse." She chirped.

She looked happy to see him.

Real happy.

He smiled at her.

Good.

Had he found her otherwise, well, busting out a few of Stark's teeth, and giving him a black eye and a fat lip and maybe a cracked rib, that was still one piece.

More or less.

"Hiya kid. Nice ta see youse in one piece. More or less. Time to go finish your last two weeks. Plus one for your escape routine. An' don't bitch, Nick wanted to give youse an' extra two weeks."

"But what about the guy who tried to kill us?"

"There was no guy who tried ta kill youse. Hiya Shellhead."

"Hello, Eddie. Drink?"

"Naaah. I'm drivin' tonight. Gotta take the kid back to the rehab joint. It's about an hour an' a half away. She ain't supposed to drive till her leg is better. She's supposed to be _restin_'. Siddown, kid."

"I didn't know that she was hurt that badly. When I found out, I made sure she got off her bad leg."

"Yeah. I'll betcha did."

A black look passed over the Comedian's features.

"I've got the manager tracking down a pair of crutches for her, but we did get this cane."

"What do you mean there was no guy?" Liv insisted.

"I mean me and Logan have been cleaning up your mess all day, kid. Foist, we stopped off at the jail where Shellhead made a nice big whole in the roof and you put a coupla beaner cops in the hospital. We made 'em the ol' offer they couldn't refuse. Take some nice, green American dollars and our promise that the Army Corps of Engineers will come down and fix the roof to forget the whole thing, or me and Wolverine will use them to decorate the walls in red. They took the dough."

"What about at the bar?' Liv insisted.

"We went there, too. Everybody was real cooperative. We didn't have to touch nobody. I gave the bartender a ten spot, an' he told me all about it while me and Logan had a Corona or two on the house. That Mex wasn't a bad guy. He wanted ta look after youse. Youse shoulda let him. If ya had, you would been back at the MORC by now. You came in there on Sunday night, loaded, had about five beers and four shots of tequila, and had a good time until you got into a fight with two or three sailors who tried to get wise with you. Ya tossed one through a window. Good thing for him it was open. Then you left a nice big tip, went outside and passed out in the street. Somebody called the _federales_, and they took you to the drunk tank."

As he spoke in his terse Brooklyn accent, the Comedian's words dripped with biting sarcasm.

"Oh." Liv said.

She didn't seem surprised, just disappointed.

"As for you, Shellhead, you was there on Saturday. Ya breezed in with your hands all over a coupla local broads who make their living rolling drunk gringos. Nice ladies, really. It's a more honest livin' than whorin', they tell me. The barmaid, though, she really liked you. You remember her, dontcha? She was the nice girl who let youse throw a fuck into her when you was drunk, an' she wanted to let you stay in her room, an' keep youse away from the broads who were trying to roll youse. You had other plans. When you rolled outa there and passed out and she saw sparks come outa our chest when youse hit the ground, while the others were robbin' your ass blind, she stopped 'em. She looked under your shirt and saw youse was a cripple as well as a drunk and she called an ambulance. But, while she was on the phone, you somehow got away. The _federales_ at the jail found youse a few blocks over, lyin' in the street where they almost hit youse with their shitty little Mex cop car. They had no idea youse was a cripple, an' they didn't trouble to look, so they dumped youse in the drunk tank. The next day, they dumped my partner in, and she saved your ass, and youse guys came up with your nice little story, because you was too drunk to remember what happened and too ashamed of yourselves to admit it. The End."

The Comedian threw a paper sack down on the table.

"The nice Mex broad, she saved alla your shit for ya. I sure hope ya didn't give her a little somethin' ta remember you by, in about a year from now. But, in case ya, did, me an' Logan gave her your secretary's number, so she'd know where to send the papers for the paternity test."

Tony was so mortified, he couldn't speak.

Liv didn't seem fazed at all.

"Well, that's that, then. I guess Bruce was right, but, holy shit, Eddie, what a fuckin' trip! I busted outa a supposedly impregnable S.H.I.E.L.D. joint, and a Mex jail, and I got to go to Tijuana, and I saved Tony's life and him and me had a real good time here. You ain't sore at me, are ya, boss?"

"Naaah. Youse just wanted ta have a little fun before youse has ta get to work. But you shoulda waited till your leg was all better. Where's your shit?"

"Here."

The Comedian put the knapsack on his back.

"You ain't supposed to be on that leg without crutches for another two weeks, kid. Alley ooop!"

He picked Liv up with the same ease he had picked up the knapsack.

Liv got an angry, brutish, evil look on her face.

"Hey! Put me down. I can walk."

"Quit fuckin' squirmin, or I'll throw youse over my shoulder."

"You do that and I'll punch youse in the balls! I know there's a zipper behind that codpiece."

"Yeah, you spend enough time lookin' at it."

"Yunno Eddie, I don't appreciate you fuckin' with my shit like this! If you think-

"Hey, kid, ya know what? Shut the fuck up! Your ass is mine until I say it ain't! I'm your fuckin' boss! I'll fuck with your shit any way I want and if youse don't like it youse can go back in the gutter!"

"Oh yeah, ya fuckin' old bastard?"

"You want me ta show youse the ropes or not?"

Iron Man put his arm around his secretary, protectively.

"Pepper, if they start to fight, I'm going to pick you up and carry you into the bedroom, and then I'm going to lock us in and barricade the door."

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"They're not really fighting, Mr. Stark." She said.

"Yeah, I do. But you ain't gonna tell me where ta go an' what ta do and when ta do it, and youse ain't gonna get in my way of doin' my fuckin' job!" Liv snarled

"Hey, asshole, when ya work with somebody, that means that their fuckin' job is your fuckin' job! Your fuckin' job is my fuckin' job, now, and vice versa. It's called workin' together. Job's done. Say thank you, and let's go!"

Liv was about to say something, and then she reconsidered.

"No shit, Eddie, really?"

"Yeah, kid. Really."

"You mean the next time I go to the South Bronx to get ten baby-raping killer drug dealers to leave somebody's building and quit turning all the kids into junkies and puttin' all the girls on the street, I get backup? You're comin' with me?"

"Did I go with youse the last time?"

"Yeah."

"So what am I gonna say the next time? Fuck you, kid, have fun gettin' a new scar? I love workin in my own town, on American soil. Why the fuck did I put this costume on, anyways, yunno? Besides, you'll get hurt a lot less if ya got somebody watchin' your back. Right? Right."

"Hey, thanks, boss."

"You're welcome. Now, relax. Putcha head on my shoulder, hang on and quit squawkin'."

"Aw, fuck you, Eddie." Liv muttered.

Then she put her head on one of the Comedian's shoulders, and hung onto the other, yawning sleepily.

"Well, I gotta go, Tony. Seeya at Grossmann's."

"You know I'll be there, Liv."

"Nice meetin' ya, Pepper."

"You too, Ms. Napier."

The Comedian carried the Harlequin out the door and she closed it behind them.

Pepper Potts and Tony Stark fell onto the couch, sighing with relief.

"Well, I think that was beautiful."

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark?"

"Just forget for a minute that the Harlequin is a brutal alcoholic nymphomaniac called Napalm who has killed enough men to outfit a Marine battalion. Forget that the Comedian is, among other things, a government assassin, a one-man war machine, a brute and a laughingly amoral fascist, Forget that they are both shanty Irish thugs from Brooklyn, and superheroes. And what do you have? A damsel in distress, abandoned to her fate by cowards all, except one world-weary knight in shining armour, who has come riding to her rescue to save her. It's true, Pepper. Love does conquer all."

"Does this change your plans for Ms. Napier, Mr. Stark?"

"Certainly not. I still want her to come work for me. And it's just lovely that she's about to discover the big bad wolf of her big, bad dreams. But, I don't see either of them as the forsaking all others type. Like Liv says, she'll see me at Grossmann's."

"You are incorrigible, Mr. Stark."

"I know."

Pepper's heart was beating very fast in her chest, and there was something about narrowly escaping death that had a certain effect on Tony.

He moved a little closer to Pepper, touching his hand to her freckled cheek.

"I meant what I said about your freckles, Pepper."

"Oh, Tony!"

Pepper closed her eyes and then…

Then the door that neither of them locked banged open and the Comedian was in the doorway, alone.

"One more thing, Shellhead. I don't know about that kid yet. I'm not sure if she's the kind who hasta kill you after she kisses you, or maybe even before, an' I don't wanna find out the hard way. Besides, unlike you, I may be a lotta things but I'm not the kinda guy who's gonna fuck some alkie broad who's just a kid when she's usually too fuckin' drunk to know who's doin' what to her. I like that kid. She's a good kid. A nice kid. A real pretty little Irish girl. The kinda girl a big dumb Mick like me could get real attached to. You know. My girl. And, either way, if she plays her cards right, she'll be my partner someday. I owe that kid my life. And what I don't want, is some fuckin' snot-nose high-class trust fund degenerate motherfucker ever touchin' my partner again. Now, I'm gonna stop talkin, so you can take a minute, and gather youse thoughts together about what a good time you and the kid had."

The Comedian paused to drop his butt off in the closest ashtray and light a fresh stogie.

He walked over to Tony, and as he spoke, he poked his finger into the middle of his chest, making a clinking sound against the glass and metal housing of his chest plate.

"Okay. Now, you hold that memory near and dear to what youse got left of your heart. And the next time you think about it, and youse see her at Grossmman's, givin' you that look the kid gives every tough guy who's got a dick and a pulse and looks like they know how to use it, you think about this. You touch my partner again, you son of a bitch, I will rip your cock out by the fuckin' roots, an' soive it to youse for lunch. You get me? I'm a better man than you are, pal, and it ain't because I got a few inches on ya, all around, I'll bet. I'm a real man, and so's Liv Napier, in her own crazy fucked-up way. I'm a stand up guy. And she knows how ta stand up, too. You ain't, and you don't. You know why? Two reasons…"

"No, Eddie, but I think I can figure it out. There are certain similarities of-"

"Shut the fuck up, Stark! I used ta go drinkin' with Errol Flynn after the war, and you ain't no goddamn Errol Flynn. Now, like I was sayin', two reasons. I'm gonna tell you something, because Howard ain't around to do it. Your father was some kinda man, Shellhead. And when Charlie tooka piecea your heart in 'Nam an' it made youse decide to put that fuckin' helmet on, ya took your first step away from bein a little rich cunt punk ta bein' half the man Howard Stark was. The problem is the other half, the cunt-struck piecea shit fuckin' drunken asshole who thinks the whole world looks better after a fifth of whiskey and four or five beers. You're only half a man, Stark. The Iron Man half. The Tony Stark half is a miserable, snivelling little piecea shit drunk who thinks he's hot shit when he ain't nothin'. Without that fuckin' suit on you're a drunk and a cripple. Where did ya do it to her? Besides here."

"That's my personal…"

"WHERE?!"

"In the car. So what?"

"So what? You think every woman who looks at you sees James Bond? Or Robin Hood? How good d'you think you looked lyin' there sweatin' it out an ' half-dead with the shakes from not havin' a drink for three days? Like a movie star? Fuck you! And just what the fuck did the kid owe you, the guy who laughed her outa his office, and always looked at her like she was some dumb broad like every other piecea trash who sat on his dick? Nothin'. And what did she do for ya? She saved your miserable fuckin' life. Because that's what she does. When she sees something she's gotta do, the kid stands up. She stands up and if there's fuckin consequences, she takes the fuckin' consequences. You know how far down she was, just a month ago? She almost died. If you was ever that flat on your ass, you'd curl up an' die. Not the kid. She came alla way back. Not that you noticed. Not that if ya did know how sick she'd been, ya woulda cared. And what did you do? Ya got loaded. Ya got loaded up in the car on her booze and ya got her loaded up on her booze and ya had her pull over the side of the road and fucked her. The only thing you could think of ta give this woman who had every fuckin' reason to laugh while you died who saved your ass was a cheap drunken fuck in the back of her car? And you think you're a better man than me? Don't make me laugh."

Tony felt himself getting furious.

He wasn't about to let the likes of Eddie Blake talk to him like that.

"Yes. I do. Most men are a better man than you, Eddie. And if you're having some kind of _problem_ at your _age _and you can't manage it with Napalm, there's doctors you can go and see!"

Pepper covered her mouth to keep in the scream.

She was so certain that the Comedian was about to pull one of his guns and make her employer's head into a canoe that she could almost hear Eddie Blake laughing as Tony's head flew in bloody bits of bone and brains all over the room.

The laughter was real, but there was no gunfire.

"I don't need no fucking doctor, asshole. As much as you drink, I betcha I have a lot less trouble gettin' my pump primed than you do. And this may come as a big surprise ta youse, but, I ain't fucked her yet. You know why? Because I'm man enough to know that kid needs a helluva lot more from a guy than just his dick. But since you think all a man is just a sack of meat that carries the cock around, and that's all you got to offer, you wouldn't know."

_Tony, the man's an animal. But he has a point._

Shut up, brain.

"I see. And what was the second reason? Let me guess. When you get around to coming down off your high horse that you didn't seem to have handy when you attempted to rape the Silk Spectre, and deign to offer Napalm the endless joys of your favors, are you just going to be so phenomenal, so amazing, that every other man she ever had will pale in comparison?"

One more, Pepper winced, expecting at least an assault.

Once more, the Comedian just laughed.

"You said it, Shellhead. Not me. And if the Devil made the kid in Hell for somebody, it sure as fuck wasn't you, was it, punk? Keep your little wick outa my candle, Stark. Because you mighta been able to light that fire, but you're lookin' at the guy who's really gonna make it burn. You think you're the only guy in New York who fucks the broads you fucked? I've had a shot at a few of 'em, and after I get done with 'em, pal, they don't remember who the fuck you are. Well, I gotta go, I gotta plane to catch."

Then, just when Pepper thought it was all over, Tony did something that she thought was unbelievably stupid.

"Not so fast, you son-of-a-bitch!"

And he hit Eddie Blake.

Sucker punched him right in the face.

Hard.

The unch turned his haed to the side, but the Comedian barely flinched.

This time, as the Comedian laughed, he wiped at thin line of blood from the side of his mouth.

"Well?" an enraged Tony Stark insisted.

Pepper got up and threw herself between the two of them.

She knew the Comedian had no qualms about socking a woman, it was just the only thing she could think of to do.

"Don't hurt him! He doesn't know what he's doing, he's drunk, he's been drinking all day!" she exclaimed.

"Relax, doll. I can see that for myself. I ain't gonna hit him. You can go siddown."

Pepper stepped aside, but she didn't sit down.

"Boy, it's a good thing for youse that women who are better men than you are show up to save your ass alla time, huh, Stark? Besides, you call that a punch? You think I'm gonna throw down with some drunken cripple? I gotta admit, I came real close to fracturin' your skull when you started talkin' about Sal, but you ain't worth smackin'. Like the kid said, I'll be seein' youse at Grossman's."

Still laughing, the Comedian made his exit.

Immediately, Tony moved to fix himself a drink.

"Good save, Pepper. Although I could have taken him. I'm sure of it. Suit or no suit. Did you see that? The man's a menace. Insane. A real Neanderthal. Talking Napalm up like she's some Girl Scout who needs a hug and some milk to go with her cookies. Typical forties mentality. Women are either Madonnas or whores, and if she likes men she has to be a whore so he has to remake her into Sister Mary Lily-White. Chauvinist pig. Why, the very idea---"

"TONY!" Pepper barked.

He dropped the ice cube into the glass and froze.

"Tony, you are about as much a feminist as Winston Churchill was a Nazi! Will you please cut the bullshit! I never thought these words would ever leave my lips, but Eddie Blake was right! I've been wanting to say something to you all day about it! Liv Napier really is a very young girl. And obviously troubled. And also, obviously, she's hurt. Did you know that when she was rushed to the MORC from the X-Mansion she was deathly ill? She still drags her leg when she walks, even with the cane. Did you notice? Did you know she was an alcoholic? Did you know she was having emotional problems? Did you ask? Do you care?"

"Well, Pepper every mask in New York knows that. It's not as if she wasn't willing and—"

"Did it ever occur to you that willing or not, you were taking advantage of the poor girl?"

"The poor girl? Napalm?"

"Yes. Napalm! I am beginning to see why it is Mr. Wayne apprenticed his stepdaughter to a man like Mr. Blake. For all his faults, he can still see that Liv Napier is a, lost, troubled girl who is fighting for her life! She desperately needs a man to offer her friendship, and tenderness and some security and guidance and possibly even love before he offers her a drink and a…a ride on his dick! And if you weren't so drunk, yourself, all the time, you might have been able to see that! And a lot of other things. But I can tell by the look on your face that you have no idea what I'm talking about, so I'm just going to continue with things the way they are until I lose my mind or you end up in the gutter drinking rubbing alcohol! Good night, Mr. Stark!"

Pepper stormed out of the suite, slamming the door behind her.

Leaving Tony Stark completely alone.

"God damn you Eddie Blake, you crafty son-of-a-bitch! Look's like the joke is most certainly on me."

Tony fixed himself a drink and repaired to the bedroom.

He had his drink, and finished watching Star Trek, and then fixed himself another drink, and got on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Steve? It's Tony. Did I do the wrong thing, here?"

"You'll have to be more specific, Tony."

"About Napalm."

"Wrong? No. Irresponsible? Stupid? Beneath the lowest standards of duty a mask owes to a fellow mask? Yes. Defintely."

Tony swore to himself.

"We were just having a little fun."

"Tony, if you were sober enough to think rationally with that big brain of yours, you wouldn't think almost dying drunk in a rat-shit jail, or diverting an injured barely-legal alcoholic from finishing her rehab so she could look after your ass until Pepper showed up as fun. But, then again, I'll bet Napalm had a blast, too, so, don't be too hard on yourself."

"Tell me the truth. When I'm not in the suit, am I a disgusting shallow asshole who only measures his manhood by the size of his dick and how many notches there are on his bedpost who slides through life taking the easy way out because I was fortunate enough to have been born with money, looks, and genius?"

Captain America took a deep breath.

"Only when you're drunk, Tony. The problem is, you're usually drunk."

"I know. Look, I have to go. I have another call to make. You, ah might not be seeing me for a few weeks."

"Seven weeks, Tony. Maybe eight. I'll come visit you in the last three, when you're allowed visitors. Good luck."

"Thanks, Steve."

Tony Stark dialled Nick Fury's private number.

"Fury, here."

"Nick? Tony. I ah, I've hit the wall. I'm actually pretty fairly disgusted with my latest caper and the mess I'm making of my life. I'm not saying I want to quit drinking, but I do think I need to cut way down. How are you fixed for a new patient at Superhero General?"

"I can be at the MORC in three hours. I suggest you do the same."

"Great. I'll get Pepper."

Tony got on the phone one more time.

"Pepper, get dressed. We're packing. I'm going to check myself into the MORC and go dry out."

"Now?"

"Yes. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I need you to help me pack."

"Of course, Mr. Stark."

"And when I get out, I'll do all the talk shows. Get me an interview with Barbara Walters. I want to cry on national television."

"Certainly, Mr. Stark. Tony, I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you. I must be out of my mind."

After he hung up, Tony looked at his drink, finished it, and decided that he was ready to go.


	5. Rehab

**Chapter 6: Rehab**

**I: Tony**

Tony Stark had never been to rehab, but he doubted that most of them were like The S.H.I.E.L.D. Masked Operative Rehabilitation Complex in San Diego.

The MORC was the most high tech, high class and state of the art facility of its kind, as it was designed to keep the people who kept America and it's allies safe in good working order, both mentally and physically, in the most top-secret way possible.

There was nothing around it for miles but brush and desert; it was constructed so you couldn't get out and they, whoever "they" might be, couldn't get in.

The facility was staffed completely by fellow superhero volunteers and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel.

His tour included gyms, two target shooting ranges, swimming pools, a bowling alley, a restaurant, a movie theatre, the entire medical complex, several sunrooms, common rooms, a library and suites that rivalled those in the best hotels.

He signed up for the Moderation Program, in which you were still allowed a certain amount of drinks per day.

You stayed for five to eight weeks.

The first week and the second, no drinks.

At all.

Then you were allowed a total of four drinks per day.

You could even keep the stuff in your room, but for every drink you had over the four drinks, you had to stay another week.

Then, in three more weeks, home you went.

They gave him a lovely suite, and Tony was determined to think of it as a vacation at a resort for superheroes, except with lots of cameras everywhere, and he was able to play it like that for the first day or so, and then withdrawal started to set it.

The shakes were pretty bad, so bad that he couldn't keep his hands still. He kept seeing things, things he knew weren't there, and he found himself in a constant state of panic.

None of which was as bad as the unfulfilled desire to have a fucking drink.

At the MORC, on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Moderation program, they believed in sweating it out of you; you went cold turkey and that was that.

A doctor came to see you once in the morning and once at night, to make sure you were alright, but that was it; you weren't getting medicine unless you were having grand mal seizures and you weren't getting a drink, no fucking way.

On the third day, Tony took to his bed, he just laid there all day, naked and shaking and sweating it out.

He wanted to scream and scream again, but he didn't, and eventually, he fell asleep.

By the fifth day, he felt well enough to at least put on boxers and an undershirt, and he began to show interest in food, again.

They were giving him soup and crackers, and ginger ale, and pudding, which was good, because his stomach was a wreck.

Thankfully, the room had a TV, and he sat in front of it for much of the fifth day.

On the sixth day, he actually took a shower before putting on his boxers and undershirt, and parking himself in front of the TV.

It had to be Sunday, because there were swoony, weepy melodramas all over the TV, and Tony, who had been rather emotional, lately, was embarrassed that he sat there and cried through them, blowing his nose and snivelling and blubbering like a maudlin housewife.

Thank God they put an old John Wayne war movie on, he was running out of both pride and Kleenex.

The Duke was just single-handedly killing half of the Nazis in Europe when there was a knock on his door.

That was probably dinner; he took it as a good sign that he was hungry and that his hands were no longer shaking when he put them on the doorknob.

"Hey, you're doin' good for the sixth day! Of course, I hadda lotta other shit wrong with me. I got your dinner. You watchin the Duke, too? I love this movie. Maybe we'll get a Western on, next. Notice I ain't dragging my leg, anymore? It's finally better…"

It was Napalm with dinner.

Napalm didn't ask if she could come in, but that was alright with Tony.

She'd already seen him at his worst, and what did he have to hide from her, and besides, he was glad for the company.

"I hope so. You know, this morning, I was watching _Magnificent Obsession _and crying like a baby."

"Yeah. Me too. You get so emotional, in this joint. With no booze."

"But you went through almost the whole program? Why won't they let you have your three to five drinks?"

"I dunno. Spite. Let's eat."

They ate their dinner, and a Western did come on afterwards, now it was the Duke telling Henry Fonda to stay away from those Apaches.

"You know who this movie reminds me of? Me and Steve. Except when I get on my high horse, I let Steve pull me down from it. When are we allowed to have visitors?" Tony asked.

"We're not."

"Phone calls?"

"Not unless somebody in your family dies."

"Jesus, what is this?"

"Superhero Prison. Why d'you think I broke out?"

"You wanted a drink?"

"Naah. I was gettin' my three to five drinks a day, by then. No, I broke out because I was really fuckin' horny. Like a really bad case of the hangover hots. And I didn't want to make an ass of myself with any of my fellow masks here I didn't know so well. How you doin'?"

"They started yesterday. I still had the shakes, too, so that made relief very…interesting."

Liv laughed.

"Most people don't get that way."

"Lucky us, huh? Napalm, look, I know I look disgusting, and I'm in really bad shape. I don't need you to do me any favors."

"Who's doin' you a favour? I'm horny, too. I'll take what I can get. Just watch the movie."

_Tony?_

Go away, brain. Napalm gives the best head on Earth, and I am trying to enjoy myself.

_But there's cameras everywhere._

Oh.

Tony lifted up his glass of tonic water and raised it towards the nearest mirror, winking slyly.

***

Tony slept through the seventh day, and in the wake of his rather sordid encounter with Napalm, he began to have weird sex dreams, unpleasant and Burroughsian dreams that were more nightmare than fantasy.

He awoke from one of them, in the middle of the night, sweating so profusely that he had the sheets were soaked, choking on a strangled scream of terror, and feeling like there was a tree growing out of his crotch.

He went and took a shower, but that didn't really seem to calm him down, much, so, knowing that he was at least free to go wherever he chose in the MORC complex, he went to Liv's suite.

Tony could hear the TV was on; it was three in the morning, and she wasn't in bed.

He knocked, softly.

"Napalm? Napalm, it's Tony."

He could hear her trip on the way to the door, drop something, swear and then she unlocked the door.

"What are you doing here, in the middle of the night?" she asked.

Tony dug deep and found his reserve of savoir-faire.

"Well, for starters, I was thinking about demonstrating to you that, although I may not be your favorite monster Eddie Blake, I do have a certain amount of brute strength by tearing your tank top in two. Then, I was going to pull off your shorts with my teeth. And after that, I figured, I'd improvise. At any rate, I brought you a present. Would you like to unwrap it?"

"I'm really glad I saved your life, Tony."

"So am I. Can I come in?"

"Fuck yeah!"

Tony walked in, and slammed the door and locked it, and Napalm immediately untied his robe.

"For me? Oh, you shouldn't have."

Tony tossed his robe onto her couch and headed for the bedroom.

"How did you get such a big bed? You could fit two of my bed in this bed!"

"I asked for it. I knew you were going to be here, and yunno, hope springs eternal."

"Why's that? Are we not allowed to fuck in this place? What, do they have a little alarm that goes off in a sensor that detects human pheromones?"

"No. But they do have cameras everywhere. And in the bathrooms. They're only supposed to check on you, briefly, to see if you're mainlining over cleaner or some shit, but if you had your choice between flashing from room to room and watching a grown mask cry and act out _The Lost Weekend_, or watch some nasty porno superhero fucking, which would you do? And think how much those tapes would be worth. Sorry, Tony, but I'll have to look but not touch."

"Oh no you won't, my dear. Who, pray tell, do you think made the cameras for this lovely facility?"

"I know who made them. Stark Industries."

"Precisely. And all cameras made by Stark Industries have a special override mechanism, activated by retinal pattern analysis by their dear creator. Me. I look into the camera and, voila! Until me and my soulful blue eyes have made our departure, the camera is off. Any Stark Industries camera anywhere in the world."

"Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Because I stole the idea from your wonderfully paranoid stepfather. Actually, it was a businesses deal, but I'm not in the mood to talk shop. Are you? Now, time to disable Big Brother."

He walked over to the mirror.

"Where do you think the cameras are? Behind the mirrors?"

Tony walked over to the mirror, and struck a few poses.

"Oh, you handsome devil! Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the dirtiest of all?"

"What a performance! Too bad you're not playing to the camera."

"Yes. Too bad. Because you know I take great pride in my performance."

Actually, Tony was a little worried about his performance, for the first time since he was 15, because it was the first time since he was about that age that he had been stone cold sober during it.

Fortunately for him, he was so unbelievably ragingly horny that he couldn't think about it too much.

Liv laughed, and stood in front of the mirror with him.

"It's a big mirror. I'll bet that's where the camera is."

He grabbed two fistfuls of her tank top, and ripped it in half, then dropped to his knees to make good on the other part of his threat.

Liv smiled at the mirror, and winked, running her fingers through Tony's hair.

"I love bein' a superhero." She smirked.

***

His heart still beating much too fast, Tony crawled up onto Napalm's much bigger bed from the floor, and stretched across it.

She soon followed.

"Well, other than the rugburn all over my ass, I gotta say, that was a good one." She decided.

Tony wasn't saying anything.

"Feels completely different when you're not drunk, don't it?"

"I think I'm going to like sobriety. What do you mean, you asked for it?"

"What?"

"The bed."

"I just asked for a suite with a bigger bed. Director Fury gave me a real funny look and asked me why a little girl like me needed a bigger bed, and I told him that if I wasn't allowed to drink, I had to do something, and I got this bed."

"And we didn't even use it."

"I guess there's always tomorrow."

"What about right now?"

"Man, you got it bad! Well, they say the third time's the charm."

***

Tony was in his third week when Napalm was scheduled to go home, and, all things considered, the second week was not so bad, with her around.

Then, three days before she was supposed to go home, Tony went to see Liv in her suite and discovered she wasn't there.

All her things were neatly packed, but she wasn't with them.

He did a little detective work, and found out that Napalm was being held in one of the rubber rooms in the sub-basement.

Naturally, Tony didn't have permission or a security clearance to go there, but he made his way down under cover of night.

He found Napalm through trial and error.

They didn't have a straitjacket on her, but they were keeping her, naked, in one of the padded white rooms, and when Tony looked in, she was serenely sleeping on the floor.

"Pssst! Napalm!"

"What are you doing down here?"

"I'm helping you break out."

She just laughed.

"Go back upstairs. They think this is going to hold me? This joint is cake to bust out of. The problem with all of thse cats is, they're heroes. What do they know about bustin' out of the joint. My father's a supervillain. He's busted outa Arkham. I know more about makin a new door in a joint like this than most masks ever forgot. I'll see you the night before I'm supposed to be discharged. To say goodbye. The hard way. Then you'll see me going over the wall. So, what's this? Dress up?"

"Not exactly. But I brought your jester cowl and mask, and my helmet. And I'm going to put this mask on, under it. Hank Pym lent it to me. He's here for his bad back."

"Do you have an evil plan, Tony?"

"Yes. I figured that you were considering going over the wall, again, and with them locking you down in the violent ward, it might throw a monkey wrench into your plans."

"Well, now that you mention it, I was having a little difficulty coming up with a plan that didn't involving hurting somebody. So, tell me, what kind of eeee-villl can we do with your helmet, my cowl, and Giant Man's extra mask?"

"We can get on candid camera right now, and I can play it back the night you escape. That is, if you don't mind being a temporary porn star. The goons will be so busy watching the free show while you take a powder, they won't be watching you."

"Why the masks?"

"In case I can't get the tape back, and somebody distributes it. That, and I've always wanted to do it in the suit, and this is the closest I can get. Now, I'll call you Harlequin, and you call me Iron Man. No names."

"You know what, Tony? Doing it incognito for an amateur porno in a rubber room? That's a kick I haven't tried."

"Amateur? I beg your pardon, Napalm! There's nothing amateur about either of us. Okay, masks on. Good. I'll take off my robe and we're on in 3-2-1…NOW!"

"Why Iron Man! What a big crank you have! I'll bet you came here to get some oil for your machine, stud."

Cheesy dialogue?

They were doing cheesy dialogue?

Why not?

If he got the tape, and they could release it, all the while publicly claiming someone else had, well, they could make a small fortune.

And besides, this promised to be fun.

Eddie Blake, he was a lucky man.

Liv was one dirty little bad fairy from Hell.

"That's right, Harlequin. You won't be laughing when I start working my well-oiled piston in your superheated engine block."

"No, I'll be screaming with delight! Time for your tune up, sugar."

"The joke's gonna be on you, baby. All over you."

***

Tony took off his helmet and let it roll away.

"Tony?"

"I need a moment of silence, Napalm."

"Why?"

"For the ultimate intersection of my mojo and my genius. You bring out the best of the worst in me, Napalm."

"Thanks. You better go back up to your room. Listen, I have lunch at Grossmann's, on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, at noon. And I hate to eat alone. Okay?"

"Next time I see you, I'm buying. Napalm?"

"Yes?"

"How serious is this Eddie Blake thing?"

"Tony, that big, mean son of a bitch is my fate. But, I'm not the monogamous type. And neither is Eddie. Seeya at Grossmann's."

"See you at Grossmann's."

***

Sure enough, late the night before Liv was supposed to be discharged, while the guards in the violent ward were raptly watching Iron Man and the Harlequin put on a professional porny performance, Tony was awakened by what sounded like every alarm in the building going off.

Like every other mask in the place, he ran to his window, opened it, and stuck his head out to cheer the rapidly moving blur of red hair and white skin that was heading for the gate, toting, improbably, her adamantium machete.

Tony, of course, had placed it for her, out on the grounds, the day before, while he and Hank Pym were taking a little walk, and Tony was flashing those baby blues for the camera.

The guard dogs were running with her rather than after her, joyfully yipping and barking and howling, and Napalm was laughing and howling as she threw the unbreakable machete at the electrified fence, creating a shower of sparks.

Once it was neutralised, she scaled it quick as a monkey, pulled her machete out by its non-conductive wooden handle on the other side, sliced through the non-electrified barbed wire, and, after climbing down the other side, she saluted her fellow masks who cheered her from behind the fence.

Then, as she leapt into the brush, she began to sing.

An old Chuck Berry tune.

"You can't catch me/No you can't catch me/Cause if you get too close/I'll be gone like a coooooool breeze…"

**III: Nick**

"Do you always personally congratulate your charges when they finish the program, Nick?"

Director Fury let out a puff of cigar smoke like the smokestack of a steam engine.

"Yes I do. But, before you go, Tony, I just wanted to tell you, that I know you were in with the Harlequin on her second escape. Not that I didn't expect her to go over the wall a second time. Now, I don't give a rat's ass about that. But, I know for a fact that, when she ran out of here, she ran directly into the ever-loving arms of one of the most dangerous sons of bitches on God's Green Earth. Her partner. The Comedian. I don't have the particulars on whether he's sealed the deal, or not, and maybe they'll have to bounce each other off the walls a little, but this is a done deal. Eddie's not a sentimental man. I can only think of one dame he ever called "my girl" other than Liv, and you know who that is. So, you better watch your ass, Tony, playin' footsie with the Harlequin. Eddie will kill you. He'll make it look like somebody else did it, but either way, you'll be dead. You get me?"

Tony Stark laughed.

The crazy son of a bitch actually laughed.

"I'm not a child, Nick. And neither is Liv. Or Eddie Blake. Now, I happen to know that the Comedian and the Harlequin, though they are, whether they know it or not, madly in wild ultraviolent love, neither of them has a monogamous bone in their bodies. And, whereas I will step aside until the fur stops flying, I'm sure there will still be a place for me in Napalm's black little heart, whenever all is said and done."

"Too bad that's not what you're looking for."

Tony frowned.

"You're right. What I'm really looking for is that wonderous intellect of hers. Someone like her, and somebody like me, if we could get our heads together…well, who knows what would happen."

"I'd rather you were just in it for the pussy. Watch your ass, Tony."

"Oh, I'll try."


	6. Dirty and Sober

**Chapter 7 : Dirty and Sober**

**Grossmann's Delicatessen, New York City. A few months later**

**I: Tony**

"So, tell me, Steve, what was this special meeting about that I wasn't invited to? Was I being maligned and badmouthed, or just one out of two?"

"Actually, Tony, it had nothing to do with you. It was all about Eddie. You know. About him and Liv."

Tony put down his coffee cup.

"What the hell kind of superhero meeting is that? We're having important inter-team meetings about our personal lives, now? Jesus, remind me to be unavailable."

"That's what I thought. But it was Clark's idea. Him and Dick and Hollis Mason and Adrian Veidt. I was supposed to be there, and so was Jon, but we both thought it was invasive and excessive. And stupid. I mean, sure, in some ways, Eddie's a bad man, a real bad man, but Liv's a tough cookie. And I know Eddie, I've known him since he was a young pup just 18 years old. He's not trying to pull anything funny. I tried to tell Clark that. I said, look, Clark, Bruce laughed when you told him about your special meeting. Would he have laughed if he thought his stepdaughter was in danger? Not to mention that, like you say, what we do in our personal lives isn't the team's business, unless it's disruptive of our jobs."

"What exactly was our little Napalm supposed to be in danger of?" Tony asked.

Thinking about it, Captain America laughed.

"Clark was worried that Eddie was forcing himself on Liv. You know, like he was telling her, if you want me to keep working with you, then you better do what I say. And Clark was afraid Liv was going along with it, because she thought that Eddie giving her a hand was her last chance. You can laugh, Tony. It's alright."

"No, I can't laugh. I'm too shocked to laugh. I guess nobody told him about that whole rape at gunpoint thing."

Steve dropped his sandwich.

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, it's true. I heard it from the horse's mouth. She said, and this is pretty much a direct quote: "I was getting real tired of Eddie playing yes I will, no I won't with me, and he had his reasons but I didn't give a fuck what they were, so we got into it a little, and I got him on the ground and put a gun to his head and I pretty much let the stupid bastard know that he was comin' or he was goin." Apparently, that clued Eddie to the fact that Liv really did care about him, and all's well that ends well." Tony explained.

Steve laughed so hard that tears ran out of his eyes.

"That Napalm, she's really something."

"I know."

After Steve left, Tony sat around, calmly drinking coffee, until the Comedian showed up.

In his civilian clothes.

"So, ya showed up, huh? Good."

"Before you start, I want you to know that the only reason I didn't break your face in San Diego was because I didn't want to endanger Pepper, or upset Liv. If you're going to start insulting me again, we'll just see how you feel about having your ass handed to you by a drunk and a cripple. In public. In front of Sophie Grossmann."

Eddie just laughed.

"That's the spirit, Stark. Hey, somebody had to tell youse to get your shit together. You don't listen to Steve, and your old man's dead. I ain't gonna insult youse."

"Alright, then. I presume we're going to talk about Liv."

"Yeah. We are. I guess you an' everybody else knows, she's my girl. Right?"

"Right."

"So if you're thinkin' about featherin' a nest with a red-haired broad, lemme remind you about your secretary. She's real cute, an' she's already the doll ya can't find your socks without. Otherwise, well, you're a big boy, now. I ain't gotta tell you that the only place that one broad for one guy and one guy for one broad shit leads to is Splitsville. I don't tell the kid what to do, and she don't tell me what to do. If I'm outta town, what do I got to say? But, if I think you're tryna muscle in, an' steal my girl, it ain't gonna go well for youse, and I don't care who says what. You get me?"

"Well, to be honest, I do have every intention of trying to get Liv to quit the JLA and join the Avengers, and quit working for Dr. Manhattan and come to work with me."

"Just like that, huh? You're gonna snap your fingers and bat your eyes and the kid's gonna come runnin'? Yeah. Sure." Eddie snorted.

"You're taking this awfully well. What's the catch?"

"The catch?"

The Comedian laughed and lit up a fresh cigar.

"Ask me that again after you've known Trivelino J. Napier for twenty-two years. Good luck, Shellhead. You're gonna fuckin' need it."

**Tony Stark's Penthouse, New York City**

On occasion, Tony recalled to mind a conversation he had with his former physics instructor, long-time friend, and sometime business associate, other times business rival, Bruce Wayne.

"Tony, you don't understand my stepdaughter. She has a real…street mentality. Because of what…happened… her saving your life and…"

Bruce was trying desperately to be diplomatic.

"Spit it out, Bruce."

"Well, in her mind, you're her, well there's no nice way to say it, jailhouse bitch."

Tony had laughed until he dropped the phone, then once he picked it up, wheezing and choking back tears, he asked Bruce to explain.

"And how's that?"

"Well, you two went to the joint, and you couldn't handle it, you were on your ass, so she saved your ass and made a new door and broke you out. Then, when you were on the lam, you hid her at your flop, but the dirty screws put you both back in stir, and you were in a bad way again. So she got you up on your feet, made sure nobody got to you. Then when it was aces with you, she went over the wall, after you helped her make a new door. And you, you were a stand-up guy, you didn't rat, you did your time and when you got out you talked to the boss, and got his OK that you and her could operate together. That tells her that your flop has an open door to her whenever she's looking for a little action, and when she comes around, you better be ready. Punk."

Tony had started laughing, again.

"Don't laugh. You know Liv. She speaks half in hippie-beatnik jive and the other half Sam Spade. I heard her on the phone with somebody, probably her friend Laurie. She was telling her all about this "high class piece" that she met up with "in the joint" and then added something about having "this cat on a string" and I hurried by before I could hear about for what."

"So what are you trying to tell me, Bruce? That Napalm is a female chauvinist pig who treats men like sex objects?"

"Well, that's her tough act. I don't doubt she genuinely likes you, and respects you as a mask and a scientist. But she's not going to let you have it your way, Tony, and she's not going to give your way just because you're Tony Stark and you said so. Trivelino J. "The J doesn't stand for anything" Napier only does things one way. Hers."

It wasn't as if Tony didn't know that Napalm was strong-willed and dirty minded, that she was a bad little pixie with the Devil in her.

It just never occurred to him, though, that she wasn't going to twist right around his little finger until she fired the first shot across the bow.

Tony was returning from a party one night to give a sexy blonde "photojournalist" from some chi-chi women's magazine an "exclusive interview"

Of course, Tony had every intention of getting her to speak into the mike, and then, as the Brits said, shagging her rotten.

Twice.

After which he would pull his disappearing act in the middle of the night, and while he was in the safety of his workshop, when Pepper came in the next day, she could process the girl out the door with a press kit and a smile and whatever voodoo that she did do so well.

Tanya, the photojournalist, who had taken several shots of him with the lens cap on, bless her heart, was the kind of girl that made it hard for a man to be a feminist.

Dizzy and blonde, with long hair and long legs, and Tony wasn't too sure if her tits were real, but she was packed into her peasant top and matching hot pants and go-go boots like two big scoops of ice cream in a small cone.

"Wow, Tony, like, you really live here? Far out!" She gushed.

The first fly in the ointment appeared when Tony unlocked his door and saw a red button flashing on the telephone in the foyer.

"Excuse me, Tanya, I have to make a phone call."

Tony called the Avengers Mansion.

"Mr. Stark? There's, well, an intruder or sorts in your penthouse." Jarvis reported.

He had a wry tone to his voice.

"Of sorts, Jarvis?"

"Yes. Miss Napier. I was monitoring the hallway camera, periodically, as I usually do, and she walked right up to the door and let herself in. I imagine that since she has the highest possible security credentials, your system accepted her key card."

"Yes. Either that or a certain bad little pixie stole the spare from me while I was sleeping and replaced it with a dummy."

"Well, that would be more likely, sir, but I didn't want to embarrass you. I didn't see Miss Napier leave, so I assume she's waiting for you. If you have a date for the evening, I'm afraid you've got a problem."

"Yes, I believe I do. Well, thank you, Jarvis. I'll take care of everything."

"I'm sure you will, sir. Good night, Mr. Stark."

"Good night, Jarvis."

Tony hung up the phone.

"Tanya, my dear, I'm afraid something's come up at the office."

"But its past midnight?"

"Well, it's not midnight in Japan, and when you run a multi-national corporation, it's a 24-hour world. Now, I have your phone number, and I'll go back downstairs with you and get you a cab, and I'll call you after I get this problem resolved."

She looked disappointed.

"Can I put this in my article?" she asked, hopefully.

"Certainly."

After seeing Tanya and her hot pants and matching go-go boots off, Tony retuned to his apartment.

"You know, Napalm, the very least you could have done was to be waiting for me in bed. I just sent home five feet and seven inches of starstruck blonde in hot pants and matching go-go boots, and for what? To discover you camped out on my couch in a nice, greasy pair of dirty Levis and a JLA exercise tee shirt with a hole in it that I can see your threadbare GI Joe wife beater through. And her legs were shaved all the way up, not just to the middle of her thigh." Tony complained.

"You know, it's a funny thing, Tony. You keep flappin' your jaws at me, but you're just makin' a funny noise."

"Did it ever occur to you that you should treat me with respect?"

She laughed.

"This is respect. I coulda put a gun to Toot-Toot-Tootsie's head and told her to blow, and ripped your pants off in the foyer. Maybe next time I will. But this is a business meeting. And you're late."

So, this was the way it was going to be?

Fine.

"Listen, sister, you didn't have to say 'punk' at the end of that speech, we both know it was there. If you're looking for a punk, you came to the wrong house. You have a place of your own, although I wouldn't know, I've never seen it. I've never even seen your flop over the bar in Brooklyn. Why don't you go there to watch the late movie, eat potato chips and drink your own booze? Which drink is that?"

"This is my booze. I figured you wouldn't have any beer around. And I'm workin' on drink number four of the day, Mr. Sobriety Police."

"Just what are you doing here, Napalm? If you're trying to prove something, I'll change the locks."

"I'll get in anyway."

"So will I. You can try and slice this pie any way you want to, dollface, but since you've got the pie and I've got the knife, you're going to have to get used to the fact that I always get a piece."

_That was really good, Tony._

Thank you, brain.

Liv got up off the couch, and came around it, to face him.

She didn't look too happy.

"Look, man, I hear you've been spreading it around town that just because you and me are tight, and we did some time together, that I'm your little girl. I ain't nobody's little girl, Jack."

"What are you talking about?"

"About you crowing to our fellow masks about how I'm gonna come work for you and ditch Jon, and how I'm gonna ditch my own stepfather and the JLA and join the Avengers. What the fuck is that shit about? You think you fuckin' own me, now? Because, the way I remember it, your ass would be dead if it wasn't for me, motherfucker!"

She was mad, she was very mad, she was mad enough to do him and the apartment some damage.

"Hold on, Liv. It's not like that. Not at all…"

"Yes it is, Tony! I'm not fuckin' stupid! You get that in your head, man! I am not some dumb Twinkie like that sad bitch you were gonna get to suck your dick so you could come in her dye job! No matter how you pitch it to me, you wanna own me. You think I'm like some new toy. You played with me, now you want me to be yours. All yours. Well, I don't mind bein' your friend, an' I don't mind ballin' you, here an' there, an' I wouldn't mind workin' on a few projects with you, or backin' you or your team up if you needed it. But you don't own me, you can't own me, and you won't own me! You get me?"

"I get you, Liv."

"Good. Now seein' as you don't know me so well, I'm givin' you another chance. But, if you start talkin' me up again like I'm some brainless bimbo you can buy with a coupla fucks and a smile an' a line of bullshit, not only will I never speak to you again, I'll kick your ass from this fuckin' penthouse down to the basement and back again!"

Tony didn't know what to say.

Brain?

_Honesty is the best policy._

Okay. I'll try it.

"I'm sorry, Napalm. But, you see, as many, many women have pointed out to me, I may be rich, and smart, and handsome, but I am also a big time asshole, and a real dick. This whole feminism thing, it hasn't come naturally to me, but it's been a lot easier to pay it lip service when the women you're with are like Tonya. The only woman I think I ever really treated as an equal is Potts. And we are not physically involved. But, since I became a feminist, and started seeing women who probably are my equals, I've had trouble adjusting to treating them that way. That's how I blew it with my most recent serious girlfriend. But I don't want to blow our friendship, or any work me might do, together. Yes, I would like you to work with Stark Industries, and join the Avengers. But I can see how it would undermine you, as a mask and a scientist, if I go around crowing that it's a fiat accompli. So, I will stop talking you up to our fellow masks like you're a Twinkie, if you'll quit talking me up like I'm your little jailhouse bitch, and treating me like it, too."

Napalm blushed a little.

"Yeah, I guess I did run my mouth on youse before my brain, a little. An' if you did to me what I did to youse, tonight, I woulda socked youse. I agree."

"Me too. Well, now that's over, and so is my night."

Tony loosened his tie, took it off, took off his jacket, and unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt.

Then he sat down in front of the TV.

"I wish you would have burst in here after I got laid. That Tonya got my poor balls as blue as that little outfit she was wearing, and now they'll stay that way."

Liv sat down beside him.

"Yeah, well, Eddie's off on one of his missions of mayhem for Tricky Dick, and I just can't get it up to go out there and look for some asshole to give me a half-hearted screw. I mean, getting it from Eddie an' Logan, the Comedian an' Wolverine, who'm I gonna get to follow that act, right?"

"Napalm, if it's all the same to you, there's only so far this equality thing goes, and I don't want to sit here with a woman and commiserate about not getting laid."

"Who's commiserating? I was advertising."

For a moment, Tony looked at her like she had ten heads.

"You came over here in your greasy jeans and that holey tee shirt and your GI Joe underwear to lie in wait for me so you could read me the riot act and maybe break up my apartment and stick a chunk of glass in my neck if I gave you bullshit, and now you're making a pass at me?" he asked.

"You gotta point. Hang on a second." she said.

She stood up, pulled off her tee shirt and her undershirt, and stood up and started unzipping her jeans, and wiggled out of them and her boxers.

Wiggled, mind you.

"Is this better?"

_Tony, she…_

Shut up, brain.

Just shut up.

Tony had plenty of shirts; he tore off the one he was wearing in a spray of buttons, and made short work of the rest of his clothes.

Naked, he hauled her into his lap.

"Ooooo, you bad little fairy, I am going to pound your hot little ginger pussy into every surface in this apartment." He told her.

"Don't talk. Shoot." Napalm replied.

**II: Pepper**

Arriving in the morning and finding Tony's clothes all over the living room was nothing new to Pepper; what was new was that someone had gathered them up, folded them, and put them on the couch, right down to each button he'd ripped off his shirt, and that same someone was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around, cooking breakfast.

It was Liv Napier, and she did wear men's military underwear, but she also made a good cup of coffee.

"Hey, Tony! The food's on the table, not on the bedroom floor! Rise an' shine!"

"I'll go get him." Pepper volunteered, but Tony came shuffling out of his bedroom, tying his bathrobe, half-asleep.

"Pepper, who's cooking?" he asked.

"Liv."

"Napalm, you cook?"

She put a plate in front of both of them.

Bacon, eggs, toast and home fries.

"Sure I cook. I clean, too. I even do windows."

She wolfed her food, got her clothes off the floor and put them on.

"I gotta go to work. Sorry about the dishes. An' if you wanna see what my place looks like, Tony, you can come over tonight and find out. Can't be late. Jon will send out the Marines. Bye!"

Tony helped himself to seconds from the pan.

"She's such a nice girl." He said.

"Compared to the airheads, sluts, gold-diggers, starfuckers, and high-class groupies you run with? She certainly is." Pepper agreed.

"What? Napalm gets the Potts Seal of Approval?"

"Yes. She's dangerous. And she's crazy. But she's also an intelligent, independent career- minded woman. A good example for you. Not to mention she seems to like you, genuinely, for some reason. Why, Liv even seems to care what happens to you. It's very strange."

"Why? Because I'm such a cocky, conceited, annoying asshole, and I'm really kind of a selfish dick?"

"Well, yes. But only in the nicest possible way."

"You sure know your way around a complement, Pepper."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Now, I have arranged your interview with Barbara Walters, it will be next week. On Thursday. Today, you've got the Avengers briefing at noon, and at two, the board meeting."

"Which board? We just had our board meeting at Stark Industries."

"Not that board meeting. The one for the charitable foundation."

"Oh. The tax dodge. Didn't I dismantle that? You know I prefer to administer charity, personally."

"That's what the meeting is about."

"How can we have a meeting when half of the board is on trial for embezzlement?"

"They're all out on bail. Should I put dinner at Wayne Manor on your schedule?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Well, if you're going to make a regular practise of screwing your old friend's stepdaughter, under his roof, when her homicidal honey is out of town, the least you can do is show up at dinner and make nice so Mr. Wayne knows your intentions are honourable."

"My intentions are honourable. I have the utmost respect for Napalm's skills as a mask, and her beautiful mind."

"You just want her to come and work for you, instead of Bruce."

"May the best man win."

"Mr. Stark, you are incorrigible."

"Yes. I know. I'll be in my workshop. So much to do, so little time. Call Bruce for me. And tell the board I have typhus."

"You had typhus last time."

"Alright, make it tuberculosis. No, that's too final. Anthrax. No, even better. I'll send my bodyguard. I'll have Iron Man tell them I refuse to associate with known felons. Maybe he can talk them into revealing what they did with all the money. What do you suppose Jon's got her working on?"

"Government contracts?"

"Bullshit! Really, Pepper, I'm surprised at you! They probably spend ten minutes every day doing that government grunt work. I have to know. And she won't tell me. Nothing loosens her lips. Trust me, I know. All she says in tender moments is, harder, you son of a bitch. I'll have to make them some kind of offer."

"One they can't refuse?"

"Exactly, Potts. Exactly."

"She calls you a son of a bitch?"

"Yes. And a dirty bastard. Honestly, Potts, I kind of like it. Last night, I had this beautiful girl here. Blonde. Tall. Hot pants. Worshipped the ground I walked in. I found out Napalm was here, and I threw her out. There's something about that girl, Pepper. And I can't put my finger on it. Well, actually-"

"Please, Tony. I don't want to know anymore."

"There must be a way, Potts. There has to be a way I can get her to do what I want her to do when and how I want her to do it."

"Good luck, Mr. Stark. You'll need it."

"That's what the Comedian told me. He also suggested that you and I should get married. How about it? Will you marry me, Pepper?"

"Only if I can call you a son of a bitch and a dirty bastard in bed."

"But you'll mean it!"

"I certainly will, Mr. Stark."


End file.
